


It's Not Lost Until You Give Up

by angelslaugh



Series: Lingrean Rosal'sule'din [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU as in completely AU, Character Death, Crisis of Faith, Dalish mages are weird, Dragon Age DLCs - all, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Gaspard is relatively nice, MGIT is not main character, MGiT, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Not Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC Compliant, Off-screen Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, People die on and off screen, Sorry Not Sorry, basically i'm just making shit up, btw there's angst, i don't know what i was thinking, i literally could not resist, i literally write this at 2am, in fact it's actually towards the end you'll find out, magic rules are wonky, only mentioned - Freeform, weird story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 136
Words: 168,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelslaugh/pseuds/angelslaugh
Summary: In which Gaspard marries a young elf mage from Clan Lavellan to piss off Celene.Adhlea Lavellan gains wealth, power, and an extremely weird and culturally diverse clan to keep track of - firstly only consisting of her Inner Circle until it's the Inquisition itself that's part of her Clan. She was raised to be a Keeper, all right - though she never expected to be a Keeper of THIS amount of people!(And unfortunately for the people intending on usurping her, Adhlea enjoys lighting people who make her mad on fire.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... this all stemmed from an idea I toyed with of an elf actually becoming Empress of Thedas. 
> 
> Impossible, I KNOW! But then I thought, well, why not have her become Grand Duchess? Still, pretty damn impossible but not as impossible as becoming EMPRESS. 
> 
> So, this idea was born. 
> 
> Just for future reference: Clan Lavellan DOES tolerate humans more in this AU. They remain semi-permanently in Wycome, which... idk, is in good standing with Gaspard or Celene? Hell if I know, I just made this up. Anyway, Gaspard meets with Clan Lavellan and threatens them. This is the ONLY way I would let my Lavellan go out of her clan. (I don't have any good ideas for her upbringing, so there's that as well, haha...) Yes, I made it to where she DOES get involved with the events at Kirkwall, but as this is AU please do NOT expect me to write down every little detail. Never played DA:O or DA2, only Inquisition. 
> 
> ALL ELVHEN NAMES AND WORDS IN ELVHEN ARE CREDITED TO FENXSHIRAL AND THEIR ELVISH LEXICON AND BIOWARE.
> 
> Also Dragon Age Wiki because sometimes I DO like to use in-game words and phrases.
> 
> AGAIN, THIS IS AU.

Eyes watched her as she stepped in with her new _shem_ husband. Adhlea swallowed any rage she felt towards the older man as she bowed with Gaspard to the Empress of Orlais.

 _Perhaps some Tevene slavers would hear of this,_ he said to her clan members. _They’re quite fast; they’d be happy to take some of the young ones._ Translation: He’d set some slavers on her clan if they didn’t follow what he wanted.

 _What do you want?_ Keeper Deshanna had asked, without any pleasantries in her voice. Her voice was cold, angry.

The duke had met her eyes. _That one,_ he had said, with a smirk. _With the markings on her forehead._

Deshanna had stiffened; ‘twas no secret in the Clan that she was to be Deshanna’s First.

 _Our beliefs do not condone a child,_ Deshanna informed him darkly. Warningly. The Clan, and Adhlea, had been horrified to hear Deshanna’s words.

 _I cannot bear children either,_ Gaspard had admitted to the Clan. _I will take her in the morning –_

 _She returns to us every summer,_ Deshanna barked. _Or we come for her with the rest of the People,_ she had added with a frightening grin.

Gaspard stared at her. Perhaps it was Deshanna’s seriousness, or something else; yet, in the end, he nodded with permission – _as though they needed it._

As soon as Gaspard left, Deshanna had turned to Adhlea.

 _Keep your temper under control,_ Deshanna ordered harshly. _Do not be cowed. You will return each summer; do not tell him of your magic. And whatever you do, the People are trusting you._

Adhlea had the hopes of her clan and some of her people riding upon her. She could not be like _them,_ them who played a Game and ripped thousands of lives apart on a whim. She _had_ to be _better._

Adhlea had told Gaspard her name was Kerrah; it was tradition to tell the _shem_ the names you were given second. He knew, of course; he simply requested it be on the wedding registry. All of it was simple and easy and she’d already spent four years in his company – being his wife, even in name only – would be simple, right?

“The Grand Duchess Adlee Kerrah Lavellan –“ Adhlea winced at the butchering of her first name, but pleased that it was mispronounced because, hey, at least nobody would fuck around with her name, “de Chalons, wife of Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.”

Gaspard tugged her elbow up as he stood straight, looking directly up at the Empress. Adhlea forced her head to remain down, folding her hands into her dress.

A long silence built up.

“First a mage, now an elf, Gaspard? Your standards have fallen far indeed.” Empress Celene sounded amused. “Enjoy the party, _Duchess._ Given how long his late wife lasted, I highly doubt you’ll see another one.”

Murmurs swept over the court. She moved her head up, seeing the _shemlen_ looking at her; her heart pounded beneath her breastbone, panic starting to seize her.

“Please ignore her words,” Gaspard said, unusually somber. “Empress Celene forgets my late wife Calienne died of illness due to extenuating circumstances. Now, I shall introduce you to those that matter, simply shake their hands – do not bow. You’re a Grand Duchess, you’re above all but my dear cousin the Empress.”

Names and faces blurred between each other. Adhlea murmured her appreciation for the meeting and everything necessary until Gaspard made his excuses for her and summoned a servant to aide her to her room.

A flat ear escorted her out; Adhlea knew enough about the Game these past four years to _not_ show her utter relief at being out of there until she was alone – yet, even as she did, a rather cultured voice met her ears.

“Grand Duchess.”

Seeing as, in true Orlesian fashion, a mask was upon her face, the nineteen-year-old Dalish elf turned to see a fashionably dressed woman appear.

The elven servant bowed to her. “First Enchanter,” he murmured.

“First Enchanter,” Adhlea said, without bowing her head.

“Quite an intriguing young elf, aren’t you?” Adhlea blinked. “Have you yet gone through your Harrowing, dear?”

Adhlea stiffened.

In the past four years, Gaspard had not had a close eye on her all the while. Adhlea tended to stray off and practice before the _shemlen_ found her. Due to her ability to stay out of sight and the one thing Dalish elves learned _not_ to do, they never found her easily. They were loud, bumbling fools, being _shem,_ but still. 

Adhlea glanced at the servant. He remained composed.

“Oh, dear, he’s one of my lover’s. He won’t rat you out to the Empress or her cousin, nor shall I,” the First Enchanter crooned. “Come now, dear. Let us talk.”

“Forgive me, First Enchanter, but I’ve no idea what you would like to speak of,” Adhlea finally said, narrowing her eyes behind her mask.

“Of _course_ not, dear. I’m simply talking to fellow member of the Court. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard,” she said with a bow. “Now, please, dear. I would like to hear more about you, perhaps introduce you to your new sister-in-law.”

“I know Lady Florianne,” Adhlea said quietly, feeling trapped.

“Nevertheless,” Vivienne pressed.

Adhlea swallowed in fear before following.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before. SERIOUSLY AU.

Vivienne towed the smaller woman towards her rooms. The Empress was indeed generous once she’d heard Duke Bastien had taken her on as a mistress.

Opening the main door that connected hers and Bastien’s and Nicoline’s rooms, Vivienne swept the younger masked woman into the room, snapping her fingers and ordering wine.

“Forgive me, Enchanter,” the elf said after a moment, “I do not drink wine.”

Vivienne laughed. “Oh, my dear. Wine is the only drink you must drink in company – did your husband not tell you?”

The elf met her eyes squarely. “It is part of my religion,” she said, as soft as ever. Vivienne laughed again.

“Ah, yes – you are Dalish. Forgive my mistake.” Vivienne swept her hand across the lounge. “Please, do sit. We have _much_ to discuss.”

The elf sat, her eyes never falling from Vivienne as she did so.

The wine was brought out. Vivienne set one across from her.

“Word to the wise, darling,” Vivienne said, her voice low, “at least _pretend_ to be drinking. Not drinking at all will cost you much.

The elf dipped her head and took up the goblet. Glancing in it, she seemed surprised at the contents.

Vivienne winked at her. “I’m afraid you’ll have a bit more trouble with the flutes,” she informed the other.

The elf nodded.

“I appreciate the advice.” Her words sounded like she was forcing them out.

The door opened once more. Duchess Nicoline entered, her sharp, shrewd gaze turning to Vivienne’s guest. Bastien gave Vivienne a fond smile before his gaze, too, fell upon the Dalish elf.

Bastien was the first to find his words upon seeing the elf.

“Grand Duchess,” he said, his deep voice reassuring. “Quite an honor to have you here today.”

Vivienne flicked a glance at the elf, who looked positively terrified at seeing them.

“Darling, he’s your husband’s former wife’s father,” Vivienne said, _not_ in a whisper.

“If you would like,” Duchess Nicoline said, warmth returning to her posture, “consider us your father-in-law and mother-in-law, my dear.” She walked forward, sitting down next to the elf and taking her hands. “We do enjoy the company, dear one. We’re just rather shocked, is all.”

“Oh,” the elf said, sounding utterly surprised. “I…” Once more, Vivienne met her eyes. Realizing the elf was honestly terrified at that moment, Vivienne took pity on her.

“Nicoline,” she said, her voice respectful of the woman who allowed such an affair between Bastien and herself, “the Grand Duchess does not know many of the rules, it seems. Gaspard must have been lacking in his instruction.”

Nicoline laughed, a surprisingly genuine laugh.

“My offer was not made out of a ploy, dear,” she informed the elf. “How old are you?”

The elf swallowed. “I turned nineteen during En'tara'syl'nu'man – forgive me, _Guardian.”_ She carefully took her hands back from Nicoline’s grasp, a flush appearing beneath her mask.

“Young indeed,” Nicoline said, furrowing her brow. Vivienne was mildly surprised, too. Bastien himself was going on fifty, Nicoline forty-nine. Vivienne was twenty-seven. Not ten years previous, Calienne herself was going on twenty-three when she’d died. Gaspard had already been twenty-eight. Now, he was nearly forty and taking such a young bride – well, Celene knew as well as Nicoline that Gaspard could not have a child, so perhaps he’d only done it to piss Celene off enough to make yet another bid for the throne; yet having a bride _half his age_ was quite… odd. Especially an elf. “How long have you been learning the Game, dear?”

“Four years, Duchess,” the elf with a higher station answered meekly.

Nicoline _tsked,_ then turned to Vivienne.

“Will you educate her? I’m not certain I have the fortitude to train yet another in the arts,” the Duchess purred.

Vivienne bowed her head. “Why, of course, Duchess. I would be honored.”

~:~

“Divine Justinia IV asked for you _personally?”_

Adhlea nodded. “Forgive me, Lady Florianne, I simply do not know how to act.”

Yes, it was probably panic that made her come to _Florianne_ of all people. Even so; Florianne invited her in almost dubiously.

“None of my dresses would fit you,” Florianne said with a mutter. “But I suppose you only brought clothes that the maids pick out for you?”

Adhlea flushed behind her mask. “It is because I do not fit into Orlesian clothes that well,” she murmured. “I have tried to wear a corset, yet truth be told I was too small to fit the tightest setting.”

She still was. She didn’t have much of an appetite due to the fact if it wasn’t cooked by herself, she didn’t normally eat it. Plus, the human servants always gave her the nastiest of looks when she reached for food, so Adhlea couldn’t be blamed for not eating (nor would she blame the human servant. It was just what it was, she supposed.).

“I suppose, then, the ball dress I never wore would have to do,” Florianne replied, bringing out a thousand layers of dress. “Undress. Even the mask, Grand Duchess; we cannot very well put the dress on you over it.”

Adhlea averted her eyes before removing her clothes first.

“So it’s true,” Florianne said, sounding envious. “Elves do not grow hair like humans.”

Adhlea removed her mask and set it down gently.

“Oh, wow. Those markings are very Dalish, no? No wonder Gaspard wanted you to keep them hidden. There would be a riot,” Florianne remarked candidly.

Adhlea flicked a frown to her. “I do not recall you being this candid before,” she remarked.

Florianne shrugged. “In private, I can say whatever,” she said with a smirk. “There is no way to prove my words. Now, hurry. It wouldn’t do for you to be late arriving at the Chantry.”

~:~

Adhlea set her teacup down as the door opened, the Divine murmuring her thanks as she walked in, flanked by one of the Sisters.

“Divine Justinia,” Adhlea said, standing hastily – too hastily, it seemed; the elf toppled forward. The Sister was quick, grasping Adhlea’s arms and helping her gain her balance. “Sorry,” Adhlea gasped, sitting back in her seat.

“Not a problem, child,” Justinia smiled gently. “I have come here to assault you verbally with my words; I only hope you don’t have future-seeing enough to assault me in front of my fellow sister.”

“’Twas an accident,” Adhlea promised, looking at her hands. “I had no clothes suitable to wear to this meeting you have called.”

Justinia sat in front of her teacup, picking it up and sipping it before speaking again.

“I must say, I’ve not had the honor of meeting a genuine Dalish elf,” Justinia said mildly. “Tell me, my dear, are you Andrastrian?”

Adhlea gulped.

“No,” she said, her voice cracking. “I am not Andrastrian, Divine. I am Dalish – not a revivalist Dalish, but still. I hold onto my people’s gods.”

Justinia frowned minutely. “I am not familiar with the term _revivalist,”_ she admitted.

Adhlea quirked a small smile. “I do not do most of the rituals,” she admitted. “My faith is as strong as it might be. If you question me that do I believe Andraste was real? I do. I simply do not wholly believe in the Chant of Light, Divine.”

“How refreshing,” Justinia beamed. “Sister Nightingale, I believe this one would be perfect.”

Sister Nightingale looked frightening as Adhlea glanced up at her.

“Perfect for what?” Adhlea tentatively asked.

“Sister Nightingale has been asked for by the Reverend Mother in Kirkwall,” Justinia said, airily. “Perhaps you can escort her there?”

Adhlea had a feeling she wasn’t asking.

“Certainly,” Adhlea whispered.

“Of course, the dear Reverend Mother has yet to send word on when she expects Sister Nightingale,” Divine Justinia went on. “I certainly do not expect you to leave from here. I have heard your husband gave you a chateau in the Frostbacks? Sister Nightingale shall meet you there, my child.”

As Adhlea was shown out, her head was spinning and she was shaking.

 _I was just forced into escorting a Sister of the Chantry,_ Adhlea thought despondently.

~:~

Adhlea opened the door to her rooms soon after she’d met with the Divine. An elf stood out there in elegant clothes, a smile affixed to her face.

Adhlea guessed this elf in question was Briala, the lover of the Empress.

“Am I correct in presuming you are Briala?” Adhlea asked, turning to her after Briala had entered and after Adhlea had closed the door.

The elf turned to her.

“I am,” she said, her clear Orlesian accent indicating she was _definitely_ a city elf. “And we need to talk, little Dalish elf.”

Adhlea swallowed.

~:~

_Da’len,_

_Thank you for revealing your safety. I’m sending your brother to ascertain whether or not you will be coming this summer._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Keeper Istimaethoriel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accept all types of comments :D Flames will be ignored or used as fuel for my dear Lavellan's fire-power XD


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re not staying for the Season, are you, dearest?” Vivienne quirked an elegant eyebrow at the elf. Kerrah shook her head, her odd magenta eyes meeting Vivienne’s squarely.

“No, Enchanter. Today is the last night before I am to leave for –“

Whatever the elf was planning on saying was cut short as the reason Empress Celene had ordered them before her this day entered the room. An elven servant, as plain as her dressing clothes, was shoved in before templars.

“And why do you bring a servant before me?” Celene drawled.

A templar shoved the girl down. “The knife-ear’s been saying things,” the templar said in a nasty drawl. “Some lies that got Lord Ventrus in trouble at home with the Lady Ventrus. He asks you to handle it in the manner befitting the rabbit.”

Vivienne figured this trivial matter had been brought out because of the new duchess. Even as the templar spoke, she could see the elf’s hand tightening, abnormal heat building up.

The ice-inclined enchantress summoned some of _her_ magical ability, cancelling out the heat.

“Oh? And what has this elf been saying?” The Empress’ rather displeased tone indicated she cared little for either the elf or the racial slurs; Vivienne was already bored, knowing the outcome. When it came time to speak for the elf, not even the duchess would. While it wouldn’t be _irrational_ to think such, the duchess had acted as others acted; not as she as an individual.

A bit of a pity. Vivienne liked making order out of the chaos.

“She says the Lord Ventrus took a liking to her. Lord Ventrus said the rabbit came onto him,” the templar said with a shrug. “So he slept with her. Now the rabbit’s saying she _didn’t._ Fucking knife –“

“It would do well for you to be reminded, I care not for those words,” the Empress said, smirking coldly down. “Ten lashes, for forgetting. Do it on your own time; try not to wait _too_ long, Captain. As for the elf… Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

“Will they not let her speak?” Kerrah asked, as her head was shoved up to display a rag stuffed in her mouth.

“This is but a formality, dear,” Vivienne said with a sigh. “The elf is really just a commoner. I would not concern yourself with the fates of the elves of this city. Show them kindness and they will run with it.”

Kerrah only stared at the farce of a trial. Vivienne turned to speak with a minor lord about his daughter’s impending nuptials as the Empress spoke once more.

“I see. Nothing in your defense. Very well. Does anyone take responsibility for this elf?”

Nobody answered her, too involved in their conversations yet all with half a mind to answer the Empress when it came.

“Very –“

“I will.”

This time, Vivienne was actually surprised. Turning as most did, to look at Kerrah, the elven duchess moved.

With all the courtly decorum of one who had spent years going down ballroom steps, Duchess de Chalons stepped down and bowed to the silent Empress Celene.

“If it pleases you, Empress, I will take full responsibility for this elf.”

The Empress flicked her hand. Even from this distance, Vivienne could see the violent tremble.

“Take her out of my sight, _Duchess.”_

Vivienne hurried out, muttering her hasty apologies and accosting the duchess on her way out.

“Duchess,” she said, tapping her arm.

Kerrah turned, her violet eyes narrowed.

“She’ll forgive you if –“

“I am an elf,” Kerrah said, loudly. “I will not stand by if she is falsely accused. If she wasn’t.” The elf shrugged. “I shall give her consequences.”

The elf looked utterly terrified.

Vivienne was torn for a moment.

“Allow me to accompany you?” she requested.

Kerrah inclined her head in acceptance as they made their way out of the Empress’ ballroom.

Three hallways later and the duchess stopped, turning to the scared elf and removing her gag.

~:~

Faced with two important people, Calia bowed her head as her tears continued to fall. It was an _accident,_ she’d spoken too loudly near Lady Ventrus explaining her scrapes from the… _Incident_ in the garden.

The duchess’ hands pushed Cali’s head up to meet her face, her Orlesian mask pushed to the side – the side facing the First Enchanter.

She was _Dalish._

“Did you lie?” the duchess demanded, unreadable eyes staring at Calia.

Calia shook her head.

The Dalish woman drew her into a hug. Calia’s eyes widened.

“What on Thedas are you talking about, dear?” The First Enchanter sounded bored.

The duchess moved back and drew her mask back on.

“This elf was raped, Lady Vivienne.”

“She could be telling a lie,” Lady Vivienne said, sounding exasperated.

“Vivienne, when it comes to this, I do not tolerate liars.” The duchess’ eyes met her eyes; Calia saw empathy. Not _pity._

“Did you ever stop feeling –“ _Dirty._ Calia swallowed the word.

“So long as nothing around me reminds me of it, I don’t dwell,” the Dalish elf replied. “I can’t say it’s healthy, but I am… Well.” She half-laughed and moved her hands around her face. “I am certain that if Gaspard had not forced me into the dress, I would have forgotten my wedding date.”

Calia glanced to the First Enchanter, who managed to look half-interested and mostly bored at the same time.

“Now, might I ask your name?”

Calia’s attention returned to the elf. “Calia, my lady.”

Calia had already decided. If there was an offer for her in this lady’s house, she would take it.

“Come with me, Calia. I’ll pay reparations for so-called _damage_ to his house,” the duchess said, earnestly clasping her hands.

Calia opened her mouth, then paused.

“My lady, my two sisters remained at Lord Ventrus’ estate. I will not leave them to face the same thing I did,” Calia said.

“I warned you,” the First Enchanter said, her voice dry. “Reparations for a damaged reputation is one thing, dear. Taking on elven servants so soon? A bit of a reputation-ruiner.”

“I’m already known as the knife-ear who was pretty enough to catch Gaspard’s attentions, there’s not much else that can be insulting to me,” the elf replied sharply, dropping Calia’s hands. Her tone softened as she turned to the First Enchanter. “I’m sorry, Lady Vivienne. I did not intend to –“

The First Enchanter waved her hand. “Don’t apologize, dear. I’m rather amused by this whole affair, to be honest; also, Lady Ventrus is like a dragon. Do be careful. I’ll send someone your way after I’ve managed to get you an audience with her.”

Calia opened her mouth as the duchess turned to her.

“I do not want to cause you any more trouble, my lady.”

The duchess grasped Calia’s hands. “I will not let you be alone,” she said, magenta eyes staring warmly into Calia’s green. “I was not. If it gets to be too much, Calia, let me know.”

~:~

_Duchess,_

_These servants are too troublesome to do anything with. They constantly flirt and try to seduce my husband; I tire of their presence. The reparations to my husband’s reputation and the wages returned was a boon we absolutely thank your generous spirit for._

_Lady Fiona of Vanetria_


	4. Chapter 4

Gaspard was not _unaware_ of his wife’s displeasure at being forced into this marriage. Truth be told, he’d only married the small Dalish elf because she’d been nearest to the fire. She’d been a tiny thing, even then; smaller than her fellow elves – but not delicate. He could have sworn that he’d heard someone calling her praises with her bow expertise. He knew from experience that a bow was not easy to handle.

And now she was in a coveted position. Not many had known Calienne was a mage. Picking a new wife had simply been done to piss off Celene; Celene could not have her own lover, Briala, by her side as Gaspard could have _his_ elven wife. Petty, yes, but even so.

Gaspard was also well-aware that his new Dalish wife was _attempting_ to gather elven servants. For what, Gaspard cared not unless it affected his future plans.

He was actually going to knock on her door; he’d raised his fist to rap on it politely when he heard his new wife speak in an uncharacteristically loud voice.

 _“Fenedhis,_ she cannot send _him!_ He’s not used to humans. He’d likely burn this house down!”

Something smelled like it was burning.

Gaspard opened the door quickly, just in time to see his new Dalish, supposedly _rogue_ wife put a hand over the burning parchment, ice crackling over it. It was a letter that had arrived while they were at the Winter Palace for the wedding.

Kerrah’s back stiffened, her head turning to look at him in naked fear.

He released the door. She was a skittish woman; he’d known her dislike and fear of templars before.

“I heard you scream,” he said, tiredly. “You’re a mage, are you not?”

She slipped out a dagger, brandishing it.

“I will kill myself if you send me to a Circle,” she said, her voice almost inaudible.

Gaspard rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I shall bring a templar and a mage here,” he said with a sigh. “You will learn from them to control your magic; I will not put you through a Harrowing.”

 _Not if he could help it._ Some sympathy for this tiny slip of a Dalish mage slid through him. A Harrowing was dangerous for an average mage – he… he honestly _did_ doubt her mental strength, if it were comparable to her current strength. Not that he’d ever _tested_ it, he knew better than to irritate a woman. Calienne’s own temper may have been quiet, but hell had no fury quite like a mage pissed off.

Now, he simply had to do the impossible. Finding a mage and a templar that would help her.

~:~

Vivienne glanced around as the carriage rolled into Val Royeaux, Duchess de Chalons across from her. An invitation to her from Bastien to enjoy a salon there was bound to be entertaining, as boring as the Winter Palace had become after the new Grand Duchess’ arrival, marriage, and introduction with the court. Gossip had flowed in abundance when Gaspard did not return within the month; Vivienne had the feeling it was _less_ exciting than Gaspard… _enjoying_ the elven girl as the more crass lords had said.

Indeed, it was. It was really just the two getting the chateau ready. Gaspard had let it grow overrun, and yet – again, from the gossip – even the four years of the girl’s training, he’d not had a full staff.

So, with thousands in gold coins (not even a _dent_ in the Grand Duke’s fortune), they had left to Val Royeaux to hire some servants. With the two being mages, there was no risk of them getting killed. Still. The tiny duchess looked nervous beyond anything each time when they’d set camp up; Vivienne had attempted to speak with her, yet had gotten little more than ‘family issues’ out of her.

“You know,” Vivienne said at length, “seeing there is an alienage here, if you make friends out of several of the lords here you can own a share in it to.”

The duchess turned to her. Vivienne wondered idly about the mask that she always had on; did it suit some purpose, or was it just to make this girl more mysterious?

“Why would I want a share in the alienage here?”

Vivienne shrugged elegantly. “Doesn’t take much. A city elf hired from an alienage it two hundred gold – fifty of it to the elf, the rest to the alienage, dear. Think of it like a bride’s dowry.”

“I have no idea of what you speak,” the duchess confessed.

Vivienne knit her brows. “Surely your family –“ Vivienne then realized, a little late, that this elf came not from an alienage, but a _clan._ A clan of wild elves. “Sorry, darling. You’re just so well-bred that I completely forgot. Most women with good families have a dowry. It’s the bride-price.” Vivienne cast another gaze out as they stopped on the edges. “Money or estate given to the husband. Essentially, you are giving the alienage a percentage to hire the elf in the alienage. If you _do_ choose to go there, I’d think about hiring a guard. Ten thousand elves in a space roughly the size of the market of Denerim does not make for good company alone.”

The began moving again.

“Don’t worry,” the duchess said, in a dry tone. Vivienne arched a brow. “My brother is here. He’ll not let any harm come to me.”

Vivienne laughed lightly. “Ah, you agreed to meet up with him _here?_ How does sending –“

“You haven’t felt him?” The duchess seemed to be frowning as she interrupted Vivienne.

“What… _exactly_ do you mean, dear?” Vivienne once more furrowed her brows in confusion. She did not like being confused.

“My brother is a mage,” the elf explained, tilting her head. “I can feel his magic. He’s been following us… for two and a half days?”

Vivienne’s eyes widened. “You can _feel_ people who use magic from far away?”

“You mean you _can’t?”_ the other returned with her skepticism clear.

It wasn’t often Vivienne was the unbalanced one. She did not like feeling such.

“No,” she said, stiffly. “I cannot.”

~”~

Meeting Syven was unexpected. One moment, they walked alone, Vivienne turning to the duchess to say something; the next, a purple mist came from nowhere as a Dalish elf with weapons glittering on almost every inch of him appeared. He wore fighting leathers, too; Vivienne disliked such clothing.

“Who are you?” She had her staff in her grasp; she’d gotten rather excellent at controlling ice with the staff.

Mages _could_ do magic without the staves, but it was rather unwise to not have a focus. Without the focus, you were tearing at the Fade. Vivienne could recall an _unfortunate_ incident in Ostwick that, without a certain house’s help, would have ended with the mage’s death. Unless you were so attuned to the Fade in a particular skill, you really couldn’t do much without a focus anyway.

Tearing at the Fade ended with death and demons. Vivienne preferred the pace of the Game to the magic she wielded, but it was a useful tool in getting what she wanted.

This man, however… His hair was red, his face marked with an elven god’s markings, and his eyes were an odd silver. Vivienne stared him down.

“Sis!” he exclaimed, glancing to the duchess, of whom had her hands hiding her masked face. “You never write anymore.” A _pout_ came over his face.

“I wrote last month,” the duchess replied, slowly dragging her hands from her face. “I’ve been too busy.”

“Mm.” The elf sized Vivienne up shrewdly. “Who’s the _shem?”_

“The First Enchanter of Montsimmard,” the duchess replied, glancing at Vivienne. “Lady Vivienne, this is Galifalon Lavellan.”

Vivienne politely nodded her head to the other. He stared at her with his odd silver eyes and dismissed her entirely.

“ _Asa’ma’lin,_ when are you leaving this place?” He wrinkled his nose.

“As soon as I meet with a few lords,” the duchess said with a sigh. “Lady Vivienne, I must go seek out some people so that Gaspard won’t think I wasted all his gold. I’ll see you at the salon.”

Vivienne bowed her head, watching with a thoughtful expression as the duo left, the duchess talking quietly with her brother.

Vivienne wondered, not for the first time since meeting Duchess Kerrah, if not all Dalish were the same at heart.

Then, she entered her own familiar territory and, as usual, pushed the thought away as Bastien and Lady Nicoline greeted her.


	5. Krem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! A coincidental meeting of Lavellan and Krem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA she's not meeting all her future companions. Just... maybe THEIR companions! haha no.
> 
> Writing style is a bit different, but I thought Krem was more about action than about the Game. Also, if it's not obvious I have no clue how politics work so anything that sounds good I can truthfully say I am pulling it out of my ass.
> 
> A lil' bit of Iron Bull here, but I have something delightful in store for... Most everyone I have her *coincidentally* meeting. Most of this is basically story set up and I ship hard two characters that most likely never interacted. I WILL GO DOWN WITH THAT SHIP.

Cremisius Aclassi listened as a duchess of some kind bargained with two lords in a pretty nice tavern. It wasn’t because he was ordered to, merely that he was bored out of his skull. Also, in hiding.

The Chargers were waiting for the right time to leave the city, having left a… Well, it was all Skinner and Dalish’s fault, really! They had too much fun torching the lord’s house (without anyone in it, as Krem was not fond of killing people that didn’t have anything to do with the job, much less any children…) So, yeah, the job was to burn some documents while the house was empty, and _yes,_ Dalish and Skinner did so, and _yes,_ they were seen fleeing the crime scene but really.

All Dalish had to do was slap some of her ‘secret’ stash of concealer that she’d stolen from a bunch of people’s homes onto her elf marks and all would be _great._

Even so. Elves leaving the city without a valid reason? They would most likely be arrested. Then killed.

Charger or not. Krem had already done all he could by slipping some of his own well-earned coin to several guards; now it was up to them whether or not they followed through on their promises.

Dalish shifted, a frown sliding onto her face. Mage or not, Dalish had a strange sixth sense when it came to elves – _Dalish_ elves in particular.

Krem glanced behind him. A redheaded woman with the edges of an Orlesian mask and tipped ears – _a high-born elf? Probably not._ Her companion, another redheaded elf who turned.

Dalish markings on his face made his face almost girlish, though there was a sharpness to it that dissuaded that notion immediately after it was made. Faint scars littered his face, indicating he was well-used to fighting or even hunting.

The lords talking to the lady bowed and smiled to her. She got up and nodded to them as they retreated before she, too, turned.

The mask covered half her face, from her nose up. It was reminiscent of a butterfly, molded almost perfectly to her face. Krem did not see if she was Dalish; yet the male redhead immediately dragged her over to their table.

“You’re Dalish,” the man said, sharply and staring at Dalish.

“That’s my name, don’t overuse it,” Dalish replied, offering a smirk; Krem frowned. Something had unsettled Dalish greatly. “Formerly of Clan Boranehn.”

The woman cursed, startling the three Chargers.

“Clan _Boranehn,”_ the woman added to her obvious swearing. “Is your name really Dalish?”

Dalish rolled her eyes. “I don’t have my _vallaslin_ for kicks, you know.”

“Dirthamen,” the man said, glancing at the woman with a smirk lifting on his face. “God of –“

He yelped as the woman flicked the tip of his ear.

“I _know_ who Dirthamen is, you idiot,” the woman said, sounding exasperated. “We’re sorry for intruding. We don’t really…” The woman trailed off.

“I get it,” Dalish huffed. “You sensed me. Everyone senses me. Wait, my _vallaslin_ is hidden – how’d you –“

The man rolled his eyes. “I’ve been in Val Royeaux for ten days –“

This time he wheezed as the woman elbowed him in the gut.

“Sweet Sylaise…” the man gasped. Krem was just glad nobody was staring. “You’ve… gotten stronger…”

He clutched onto the table as he drew in breaths.

“Don’t lie,” the woman said, a sweet smile on her face. “Especially not to a liar. We’ll leave you be; apologies for approaching you like this.”

Dalish stood with a frown –

“Also, your _vallaslin_ is raised,” the woman said, stopping two feet away and looking directly at Dalish.

“Always had been,” Dalish said, folding her arms. “You shouldn’t have been able to see just that.” Dalish looked uneasy. “Is it how I know you’re mages?”

The man pointed at her, then at the other woman, who smiled.

“You’re not wrong. Sorry again for disturbing you.”

They exited quickly.

~”~

And yet, their lovely meeting with them did not end there. In fact, Krem was asking the universe _what on Thedas did he do to deserve being locked up and possibly executed_ (for one, he joined the Iron Bull’s Chargers, so there was _that…_ ) as they were shoved to the ground by guards two days later.

This was, apparently, a common enough occurrence that nobody stopped on their way out, simply walking or riding by as more reinforcements came.

Dalish’s eyes widened as a carriage started to roll past. The carriage came to an abrupt halt at a loud yell, the door to it opening as it stopped.

“Oh, _there_ you are, Dalish!” The woman from two days previous cried out in apparent relief. “All of you, hands off my guards.”

“And who are you, you fucking knife-ear, to tell us what –“ began a guard before he was silenced by a throat clearing.

“Duchess de Chalons, is there an issue?” The man’s voice.

“Only that these fools are attempting to hurt _my_ guards,” snapped the woman’s voice from earlier. “What is your name, soldier?”

The soldier holding Krem jolted up, pulling Krem with him. Krem’s head was still being held down, but he did notice something rather odd.

The elf had no shoes on. It was just _barely_ seen under her layers of dress.

“Um…” the guard hesitated.

“What if,” Krem turned his head as Dalish and Skinner were brought up harshly, “we did not give you our names and we let you and your guards on your way, Duchess?”

“Very well.” The three were let up.

“Since you’re injured because of these men, you all can join me in my carriage for a while,” she announced, not so loud so that it was obvious; yet not so low it was clear she was just offering them a ride out of eyesight of the guards.

Krem let Skinner and Dalish in first. The redheaded man from earlier was there and it _did_ take a little arranging to let all of them squeeze in – what with the duchess having such voluminous Orlesian skirts and all – but it worked.

An awkward moment passed as the horses started again.

“I’m Kerrah,” the duchess said at last. “This is my brother, Galifalon.”

The silver-eyed man inclined his head.

“Skinner, Dalish, Krem,” Krem said shortly.

Galifalon gazed directly at Skinner. “If we get attacked, we’re going to pretend we’re cannibals.”

“Mythal’s the more likely one,” Dalish said. “But yeah. It’d be fucking _hilarious_ if we pretended to eat humans.”

Galifalon, Skinner, and Dalish all grinned at one another.

Krem gazed at Kerrah.

“How did you grow up with him?” Krem wanted to know.

“He’s not always this bad?” Kerrah offered with a helpless shrug. “Although, he _did_ leave quite an impression on an ally of mine.”

“Vivienne hates me,” Galifalon deadpanned. “And I hate her.”

The carriage jerked to a stop.

“Looks like we’re at your stop,” Kerrah offered.

Krem nodded. “Looks like Chief’s come to visit personally. I should leave first.”

He clambered over the elven duchess’ lap, opened the door, and tumbled out.

Krem cursed, the Maker’s name leaving his lips in a blasphemous curse.

Dalish snorted, jumping out with some weird elven dexterity that was apparently actually only given to Dalish elves, because Skinner tried the same thing and utterly failed.

Kerrah peered out, her brother over her head looking down with mild concern.

“You three okay?” she called down.

“Yes, thanks!” Krem staggered to his feet before turning to the Iron Bull, who was staring at them with a confused expression. “This is our boss, so we’ll be going now!”

Kerrah smiled uncertainly, her eyes flicking up to the tall Adaar before both vanished into the carriage, the horses starting and trundling off.

“How’d the mission go?” the Iron Bull asked, not commenting on the strange lady with the carriage.

“Dalish burned the documents,” Skinner said.

“But she lit the manor on fire, too,” Krem finished.

The Iron Bull looked disappointed that he didn’t see the fire, but… Well. Most people flipped out when an Adaar appeared.

“And her?” Bull tilted his horned head to the lady.

“A duchess of some kind,” Krem shrugged. “We met her once a couple days ago.”

The Iron Bull snorted. “And she let you in her carriage?”

“Those two are very powerful mages,” Dalish said with a shudder. The meaning was clear.

The two of them could have handled themselves if Skinner or Dalish or Krem had decided to attack in the carriage.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So small time skip. I am skipping summer with the Clan for an EXCELLENT REASON, I assure you.
> 
> (okay, actually, I don't want to screw up something later on. I might come back and add a part or two later, but... Right now, this works. FOR NOW.)

Cullen Rutherford entered the chateau with trepidation in his steps, the mage Minaeve behind him. Despite Minaeve’s muttered complaints, they were silenced at the image of the Grand Duke de Chalons towering above them.

“None of this shall be uttered to another soul,” he said, warningly. “You two are to provide instruction to my lovely wife, Duchess Kerrah de Chalons. Should I hear you’ve spoken to anyone but the current occupants here or myself about her existence as a mage, I will make certain those who uttered those words can no longer speak of her.”

With that said, the Grand Duke vanished outside; Cullen glanced over at Minaeve as the Duchess herself appeared.

Minaeve stared.

“Oh,” the Duchess gasped. Cullen turned to see her fitting on an Orlesian mask. “I am Kerrah de Chalons. And you?”

She did not hold out her hand; one glance into her violet eyes and he knew she was afraid of him.

“Commander Cullen Rutherford, Your Grace,” he said, bowing.

“Minaeve,” Minaeve offered. “Formerly of Clan Boranehn.”

Why – _oh._ Cullen’s eyes widened as he realized this woman was also an _elf._

“I am part of Clan Lavellan,” the now-so-named Dalish duchess said, firmly.

“Even married to _him?”_ Minaeve arched a brow.

“Even so,” the duchess nodded. “Follow me. I’m afraid I had no knowledge of your arrival here today, for I am entertaining guests, and keeping both of them in the same room is…” The Dalish elf shook her head. “Does not matter any longer. Follow me, please.”

She drew open a set of doors that led to a spacious room – and into a warzone of magic. Chairs were toppled over, fires smoldered on the table, and electricity buzzed.

“Madame de Fer,” Duchess de Chalons said, her voice sharp, “please, _do_ try to keep this house intact. I highly doubt the Duke wishes to replace yet _another_ room. And Syven, should you keep throwing magic around everyone, I _will_ shove that fireball straight up your ass. I am _tired_ of your shit.”

The Dalish man snorted and stepped back. “I’m assuming _their_ arrival means you’re not coming,” he sniffed.

“Summer is a season away, brother. I do intend to journey there, as I always have,” the woman snapped.

The elvish man sniffed, before glaring directly at Cullen.

“Templar,” he said, his voice tight. “Sister, I will remain with you.”

Cullen could already feel the headache, even as Minaeve stepped forward and introduced herself.

“Ah. _That_ clan,” the Dalish man muttered. “Fuck Clan Boranehn. You would’ve done excellent in Clan Lavellan.”

Minaeve’s brow furrowed. “My Keeper assured me all clans toss out unwanted mages,” she said, a little crinkle in her brow that was mirrored by Madame de Fer. The two Dalish in the room exchanged disgusted looks before the Dalish man gripped his staff and produced a fireball.

“I am the First of Clan Lavellan,” he announced. “Due to my elder sister’s position, she’s relegated to the position of Eternal Second.”

“We also have a Third, and so forth until a sixth,” the duchess said, glancing at her brother.

“Actually, the sixth left,” the Dalish man informed her. “He just had a baby with Eludysia. Pretty cute kid. You wouldn’t know, but they named her Dhaviha. Anyway – he left to help another clan with the mage stuff.” He turned to Minaeve, his mercurial eyes warm. “Clan Boranehn is a clan of dickless cowards. You’re better off without them and if you ever decide to leave the Circles to run around in the wilderness, I’m ninety percent sure that they’d welcome you. We’ve had sixteen more members inducted into the clan,” he added to the duchess, whose jaw dropped. “Some are from Denerim and other alienages; seven from Kirkwall. Times are changing, _asa’ma’lin.”_

~:~

Sister Nightingale was waiting when Adhlea arrived back at the chateau on a hart after summer; Adhlea closed her eyes and silently screamed.

Nevertheless, she made good on her promise.

“How long shall this journey take?” Adhlea asked, longingly looking at the chateau.

“Two months,” Sister Nightingale informed her crisply. “To get there. Maybe add on another month.”

~:~

_A fuckin’ knife-ear, a duchess? Don’t make me fuckin’ laugh. Surely it’s in jest._

_Why? What makes her so special?_

_She’s a heretic. She’s blasphemous. It’s clear she’ll not adhere to the Chantry. I’ve been sayin’ she’ll bring the world down; nobody’s listening._

_They’ll listen. They’ll see it. Eventually the fuckin’ rabbit will show her true colors. It’s just a matter of time._

-Found in an abandoned manor in Val Royeaux soon after the appointment of Duchess de Chalons


	7. Varaina, Fenris, Hawke

The two most uncomfortable months of Adhlea’s life passed by in dreadfully boring silence in the carriage Sister Nightingale had gotten for this journey, and later the ship. Well, honestly, Adhlea wasn’t bothered by the ship – to get to the Free Marches and into Wycome one did go across the Waking Sea. Still, Sister Nightingale was always silent whenever they shared the carriage and practically vanished on the boat to Kirkwall.

By the time she was settled in Kirkwall, expecting a quick stay, she was extremely lonely. Despite the fact there _was_ a whole welcoming party – Kirkwall’s Viscount, to be named, welcoming her to the city – Adhlea wanted _more._

She knew, obviously, one did not show off magic in this kind of city. She had an elvhen guard with her at all times, but kept a rather low profile until she ran into an older woman. Due to some elaborate make-up Vivienne had showed her, Adhlea’s face was powdered into a flat-ear’s face. Normally, Adhlea would _proudly_ show her Dalish marks off, but – no. Not here.

This woman looked strikingly similar to her; in fact, the woman paled when she saw her.

“Mother?” she asked, looking at Adhlea hopefully.

“I’m too young to be your mother, miss,” Adhlea replied, looking down.

“What –“ The woman shook her head. “I am Varaina,” she told Adhlea. “You look almost _exactly_ like my mother.”

Adhlea hesitated a moment. “My mother died by slavers seventeen years ago,” she informed the other. “I was told by my Keeper I look almost exactly like her, too. Might I ask your mother’s name?”

“Helana,” Varaina replied. “Helana, formerly of Clan Sabrae.”

Adhlea’s eyes widened. “That, too, is the name and former clan of my mother,” she admitted to Varaina.

Glee shone in Varaina’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted a sister! Now I have an older and a little sibling,” Varaina cheered gleefully.

Adhlea chuckled. “And another brother,” she told Varaina with a small smile. “My little brother, Syven, is also my twin.”

Varaina gaped at her, the glee giving way to astonishment.

“Holy shit!” Varaina gasped. “Come, please! We must tell Leto!”

Adhlea only had one question as she, and by extension her guard, were dragged deeper into the city by Varaina’s surprisingly strong grip.

“Who is Leto?”

~:~

“She wants to talk to you,” Marina said, her brown eyes serious. “I know you cannot forgive her, but – she doesn’t appear to be lying. This time, anyway,” Marina added darkly.

Fenris scowled, yet stood, taking a dagger from his bedside.

Marina simply raised an eyebrow, but moved aside.

Fenris entered the room where Varaina was, opening his mouth – only to stop short.

There was a small elvhen woman – for, despite her height, a smaller stature than Varaina – looking around with trepidation.

“Why are you here, Varaina?”

His voice was, as usual, dark and angry.

“I ran into this elf here,” Varaina said, looking anywhere but him. “And I found this young woman. You and I share Mother’s blood with this one. So, please, Fenris; I know you cannot forgive me, but I want to mend things between us.”

Fenris turned to the other elf. “Did you come here by way of orders?”

“Do you mean here as in Kirkwall or this place?” the elf shook her head. “I came to Kirkwall because I was forced to by… Someone I must not speak ill of; and Varaina here brought my guard and I to this place.”

Varaina frowned. “Your guard? What are you, a high-ranking slave owner?”

The girl shook her head with a frown. “No, I don’t tolerate slaves.”

“Then are you a mage?” pressed Varaina. “Maybe of this Circle?”

“I have never been in a Circle in my life,” the woman confessed. Fenris opened his mouth –

“Then just _who_ are you?”

The elf blinked at her. “I would have told you, but you couldn’t even hear me over the shouts of the guards racing to murder the mage who turned into an Abomination five streets over,” the woman said to Varaina sharply.

Despite what Varaina thought, Fenris _did_ have memories of their mother, Helana. Only ever enough memory to sketch her. This elf woman did indeed look like Helana.

“Varaina, Hawke will give you room for the night. After, though, you leave,” Fenris snapped. “We’ll eat dinner together only because Hawke wants to actually _eat_ tonight. And I want to know my new sister.”

Or debate if she was trying to kill Fenris…

“Can Evander eat, too? He tends to get a little grouchy.”

The guard ran into the courtyard where they all stood, huffing and puffing.

“What- _ever,”_ Fenris ground out.


	8. Chapter 8

Hawke was nice. Well, as nice as one could be as a bounty hunter as she claimed; as they all sat down and waited, Hawke finally got around to asking what Adhlea hadn’t gotten to say.

“What’s your name, by the way?”

Adhlea hesitated, glancing at Evander. He mimed closing his lips.

“My name is Adhlea Kerrah Lavellan de Chalons,” she said, looking down at the table and hoping it would swallow her up. “Grand Duchess de Chalons, wife of Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.” Silence, save for Evander’s eating, filled the room. “But right here I am simply Adhlea.” Honestly, she was excited; perhaps that was why she spoke her brother’s true name and her own.

“Clan Lavellan? Wow,” Hawke said, sounding impressed. “Does marrying a _shemlen_ get you exiled?”

“Marrying a _shemlen_ is looked down upon,” agreed Adhlea, “but it is not a cause for banishment. My current circumstances are different.”

“How?” the only other Dalish elf at the table scoffed. “You married Empress Celene’s _cousin.”_

One of the women at the table looked vaguely familiar. However, that didn’t cross Adhlea’s mind as she spat at the other Dalish elf.

“Considering _I_ was forced into this marriage, it’s fucking _different,”_ she snarled at the other, her hands heating up. The silence stretched.

“Apologies,” the other elf said, lowering her head. “Please forgive me. Hawke says I have _issues._ I am Merrill of Clan Sabrae.”

Adhlea relaxed. “Considering all the shit your clan’s been through since before the last Arlathvhen I’m not surprised. I apologize for allowing my temper to seize me.”

“Surprising that your human husband has not found out about your mage abilities,” spoke the familiar human. “I am Leliana, by the way.”

“It was hard, hiding it from him,” Adhlea muttered to herself even as she nodded to Leliana’s words.

“What’s this I hear about you and Fenris being related?” Hope was sparkling in Hawke’s pretty eyes. Adhlea glanced at the white-haired, glowing-with-lyrium elf.

“Helana Sabrae,” Adhlea said after a moment.

Merrill dropped her fork.

“You have _got_ to be joking,” Merrill said. “The former First is your mother?”

That sparked recognition in Adhlea. “Yes! _That’s_ why Keeper Istimaethoriel was so intent on Syven or I becoming First!”

Merrill stared at her. “I _do_ recognize _that_ – not _Syven Galifalon Lavellan.”_

Adhlea winced. “Yes.”

“Is there a story here?” Hawke looked mildly put out.

“Yes, sorry.” Merrill threw her an apologetic look. “Syven is… well-known since the last Arlathvhen. He thought it would be wise to substitute the alcohol with a rather _strange_ herb he got from a passing merchant. It was an aphrodisiac, and the clan elders drank it during the sixth day of the meeting. He also poured another herb into the younger kids’ drinks. It had the effect of a nobleman’s laxative. He was then punished on the eighth day before apparently being rescued. He declared he had seen Mythal and decided to submit himself to Ghilan’nain. All but his clan laughed.”

“Oh, no, everyone laughed at him for weeks after,” Adhlea quickly assured the brunette. “Until he got his _vallaslin_ when we were fifteen.” She brushed her hands across her forehead, forgetting it was covered by make-up. “Of course, he was also drunk that time, too.”

Merrill’s eyes widened. “Your clan keeps alcohol?”

“Not usually.” Adhlea grimaced. “He wanted to get it done by me, as he had done my _vallaslin._ It is usually left to the Keeper, due to the magic it requires,” she added for the benefit of the table. “But Syven and I are the only elvhen twins that have magic, so Keeper Istimaethoriel allowed it. And the alcohol. I still do not touch wine.”

“Should I –“ Hawke stood, reaching for her glass.

“I am grateful that you ask, but having it sit there reminds me of something. I will drink it tonight,” Adhlea added, glancing once more at Merrill. “It is a little early, but perhaps you and I can celebrate the new year tonight?”

Merrill beamed brightly.

“Of course!” she gushed.

~:~

Fenris sat next to his newfound sister.

“Are you leaving?”

His new sister didn’t look at him. “I did not think you would want me to stay.” She hesitated, then pushed on. “Varaina is accompanying me when I leave. I asked her to upon hearing her speak with Hawke.”

“Well, at least she’ll be gone.” Fenris shifted. “There’s something happening in Kirkwall. I’m staying.”

She nodded. “Right. Well, Hawke offered us rooms for the night. Do you mind if Varaina and I sleep here?”

Fenris shook his head. “You should be – “

Something exploded across Kirkwall. Fenris was standing by the time he could fully see what was going on; his sister stood and nearly tripped over her own feet.

Fenris was able to stop her from falling on her face.

“A mage,” his sister muttered. “I can feel their magic.”

“We should check it out,” he said, tugging her forward.

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “I _won’t_ go to a Circle.”

Fenris stared at her. “Then you should go,” he said after a moment.

Hurt flashed over her face before it was smoothed over. “ _Dareth shiral,_ Fenris.”

He didn’t know what it meant; he did not know elvhen. But he found himself tossing what she’d said back to her; maybe he did not say it right, but the smile she tossed over her shoulder made him feel less like he’d never see her again.

“ _Dareth shiral,_ Adhlea,” he called.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A clear time skip. Takes place 4-5 months after Kirkwall. Shortened the time period. Might change something later. Let ya know if I do!

“We have siblings?” Syven inspected Varaina, getting up close and personal to her. Ghilan’nain’s markings were vivid on his face. “Weird. I didn’t think we’d have flat-ears as siblings.”

Adhlea snorted. “Well, I’d say don’t be rude, but – no offense, Varaina – we Dalish don’t tend to filter ourselves.”

Varaina giggled, sounding a bit nervous as she smoothed down her skirts. “I like this set up,” Varaina admitted. “You have servants, food in your belly…”

“I tend to let the servants do what they want since I’ve hired more from the Val Royeaux alienage,” Adhlea admitted. “Most of them are… _very_ Andrastrian. As you can tell, my brother and I are not.”

Syven grinned at Varaina. “Her husband doesn’t know she keeps a miniature shrine for the elvhen gods in her room,” he whispered theatrically.

“I do _not,”_ Adhlea said, lifting her nose snootily. “It’s on the _veranda_.”

She collapsed into giggles at Varaina’s wide-eyed look.

“Clan Lavellan isn’t revivalist,” Syven told Varaina matter-of-factly. “We do worship our gods, but our Keeper is firmly grounded on gaining political allies by way of Adhlea. If that means Adhlea turning a little native, then she’s not too upset by it.”

“I’m not going _native,_ Syven,” Adhlea growled. “I had to gather some allies. I have several pieces of blackmail about Vivienne that I could use if she ever decided to try to force me into a Circle; I am friends with Lady Florianne, who seems to have her hands in lots of areas, and I’ve recently gotten a message from the advisor to the Empress, Lady Briala.” Adhlea arched a brow. “The Empress’ elvhen lover.”

Syven’s mouth hung open.

“All this in about a year since your marriage?” he gaped, staring at her.

Adhlea nodded. “Believe me, I’d rather not do this political dancing. It’s not meant for me, yet I’ve gotten damn good at it. Making allies in Val Royeaux does well for me as well, as I’m slowly getting more elves free from the alienage.”

“You’ve stated you’re very pro-elf, then,” Varaina said, her eyes sharp. “Doesn’t that give you enemies?”

Adhlea gave her a sharp grin. “Vivienne has given me lessons on buying and reaping the benefits,” she said with that same grin on her face. “First day I was in Val Royeaux with her I managed to haggle with some of the lords that control the alienage. I get a percentage of the benefits now; any enemies I make, I will make because I am an elf in a high position, not because I am pro-elf. The city elves think _this_ is some sort of alienage, of course, but it’s not. It’s working and living in far better conditions. If the _shem_ have words to say, they’ll look to Gaspard. With Vivienne seen with me, though, it is better for everybody if they don’t say a word.”

“Wow,” Syven muttered, shaking his head. “Do you admit your lack of belief in their Maker?”

“I admitted I believe Andraste was real,” Adhlea said, “and that I am still very Dalish. My beliefs are firm.”

~:~

“Divine Justinia!” Divine Justinia smiled at the very Dalish elf she’d sent Leliana with. The Duchess was still very small, but from what Justinia had heard of her she was quite adept at the Game.

Seeing elves working in amazing conditions – especially since there were no clear markers to indicate who was who – made Justinia privately wonder if the Chantry was going to call an Exalted March on them. There were even elvhen guards mixed with the humans – though, again, it seemed they were recruited for their opinion on elves rather than their greater ability.

Also… to be frank, Justinia wondered if her husband agreed with this, although she did assume with a chateau with these large gardens and an almost obscene amount of yard such workers were necessary.

Who would be insane enough to steal from the Grand Duke himself? She didn’t know.

(She did hear something about there being a crazy Dalish elf living here, but Justinia very firmly _did not judge,_ especially since an offense against a member of royalty – even a Dalish elf – would result in even Justinia’s death [maybe].)

Someone peeked around the elf she’d met. Justinia hid any surprise as this one was un-masked and a few years older than the rumors said Gaspard’s wife was.

Then –

“Great, the Divine’s here. Should I hide the shrine to our gods, sis?”

Justinia laughed as her Sisters stiffened.

“I apologize for not sending forth a warning letter, my dear. The lord at Haven made it expressly clear we were to seek you first.”

The woman blinked at her from behind her mask.

“Might I ask why, Divine?”

Justinia’s brows rose. “Grand Duke Gaspard did not tell you? The village Haven and its surroundings in the Frostbacks are owned by you,” she explained, patiently. “The lords that own several villages answer to you. Of course, the king of Ferelden was most displeased with the Grand Duke’s actions when he bought it, but the Grand Duke took the land for his previous wife right before she died. The land was given to you to do as you saw fit.”

The redheaded woman beside the young duchess looked at Justinia with an open mouth.

“Did I just hear that right? You own almost an entire fucking mountain range?”

“ _What,”_ the duchess said, her voice strangled.

The redheaded man that appeared, bristling with more weaponry than half the guards, was very wild-looking. He, too, shared height with the duchess; his own face had an almost feminine quality to it; were it not for the scowl, he would have definitely, and presumably, looked like the young duchess.

Even the scars that marred his face didn’t seem to detract from it as mercurial silver eyes met theirs.

“What do you need her land for?”

“Due to you not having the land before now, the village known as Haven has been repaired,” Justinia informed the duchess, watching as the man with silver eyes stared at her with boredom, “and the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the Urn of Andraste was once held, is a religious site. However, due to events that happened in Kirkwall recently, we have come to ask for you to come to the Temple in the next few weeks to give any insight into the events.”

Justinia did not add in her writ for the Inquisition quite yet.

“I see.” The duchess smiled at Justinia. “Did you need a testimonial for everything that happened, or do you simply need whatever I saw?”

“I was there, too,” piped up Varaina.

“Varaina, you were asleep,” the duchess said in a dry voice. “Evander was there, and he picked you and ran through the city.”

“Just you,” Justinia admitted.

The duchess nodded. “I will be there,” she promised.


	10. The Breach

Adhlea dropped her mask as she opened the doors. A grotesque person was fucking _floating_ and doing _something_ to Justinia. And _templars._ The smell of old lyrium sickened her, but she mustered the courage to speak her mind.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

She was in fighting leathers due to the fact wearing a dress was like _asking_ to die or worse, but there was no way Justinia didn’t recognize her voice. She saw the terror inside of Justinia’s eyes; where Justinia had once screamed for help, there was only despair in her eyes now.

“ _Run!”_ Justinia shouted. Adhlea’s eyes flashed.

“Like _hell!”_

“Kill the elf,” the gross guy said, looking back at Justinia.

Adhlea may not have used a knife in a few months, but there was no way she forgot. She was no rogue, yes; but self-defense lessons both with her clan, her brother, _and_ the elven chevaliers who came back to the chateau (to not let Celene know that Gaspard was actually training elves; they tended to not call themselves _cheveliers_. Still) to teach the other women even a _little_ bit of self-defense made it habit to carry her best close-range weapon with her under her fighting leathers.

She threw the knife at the floating guy. He jerked back, the orb falling to the ground.

“STOP!” bellowed the man as everyone lunged to it. Everyone paused for a fraction of the second, the humming power gone.

Justinia was slowly getting paler. Adhlea jumped for it, sliding underneath a templar and practically falling on the ground, stretching out -

“ _NO!”_

Her hand touched it. Agony made her scream –

“Give it to me, you – “

_No!_ She slammed her burning hand on the orb.

Everything happened too fast after that.

The world exploded in a haze of green and stone and something was _glowing._

However long it took to reach that glowing figure, Adhlea didn’t know. All she knew were spiders coming after her and trying to kill her.

She crawled faster as the figure urged her to hurry. The glowing figure shoved her through _something,_ and then she was falling forward.

She slammed onto solid stone, her consciousness deserting her.

~:~

When she woke, she was being yelled at.

She couldn’t understand through the haze of pain pulsating through her.

Her arm was grasped. A scream left her lips as it came alive, her eyes squinting at her.

“I don’t know,” Adhlea gasped out, shaking her head. “I don’t know what happened – one minute – “

She frowned, trying to remember –

“Why were you _spying_ at the Conclave?” Her concentration to remember broke.

“I wasn’t,” Adhlea responded honestly. “Divine Justinia invited me herself – I was in Kirkwall when the mage blew apart half the wall.”

The Seeker dropped her hand in shock.

“Why?” she demanded, her vision latching onto – _Leliana?_ The woman shook her head an infintisimal amount. _For the love of the Creators, we’re STILL playing the fucking Game right now?!_ “What happened?” She returned to gazing at the woman in Seeker’s clothes.

“You were the only survivor,” Leliana announced. “The Conclave exploded.”

Adhlea’s eyes widened in horror. “What about the Divine?”

Leliana shook her head. Adhlea swallowed in guilt; she actually _did_ remember Justinia screaming for help – then telling her to _run_ for some reason.

“Why were _you_ invited to the Conclave? What would a Dalish elf have to do with it?” The Seeker was scowling.

“If I tell you, Cassandra,” Leliana said, causing Cassandra to give her a furious scowl, “then the story _must_ be said she is a spy. Rook, that goes to you as well; both stories must be kept under wraps, but people _will_ assume the worst.” The guard shifted. Adhlea took that as him being both Rook and acknowledging Leliana’s command.

Cassandra gritted her teeth.

“Then _speak,_ ” Cassandra spat, hand on her sword.

“She was invited because she _was_ in Kirkwall the night the mages rebelled,” Leliana said. “As was I. She was my escort. Grand Duchess Adhlea Kerrah Lavellan de Chalons.”

Cassandra’s hand dropped in shock. Along with her mouth.

“Telling people will probably bring undue attention,” Adhlea added, widening her eyes; it may have had the effect of innocence, but she was trying not to cry. _Justinia is dead._ “I don’t know what’s happened, but – well.” Adhlea shrugged. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

~:~

Cullen nodded at Minaeve as the mage hurried into Haven before glancing up at the people approaching. “Seeker, Leliana…” he trailed off to look at the elf with the glowing hand.

“Adhlea,” the woman supplied. “Elf with glowing hand, if you don’t want to call me by that name.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he chuckled at her bravado. He could tell she was using whatever inner defenses she had. Terror shone through her eyes.

“Do we have enough soldiers to escort her to the Breach?” Seeker Pentaghast glared at him.

“No, Seeker,” Cullen shook his head. “Leliana, could you hold Father Roderick off?” Leliana whirled and stalked off, taking the lord aside and beginning to speak to him a rushed whisper. “Seeker, you’ll have to take her up there or simply pray that it won’t spit out more demons.”

It pulsed, the glowing mark on the elf’s hand to spark. The elf gritted her teeth and clenched her fist.

“Whatever it’s doing, it’s fucking with my hand,” she ground out. “We need to hurry before I pass out again.”

“You think you will?” Seeker Pentaghast looked alarmed.

“No, Seeker. I’m totally fine. I just have a fucking glowy bit in my hand that hurts more than getting my damn _vallaslin,_ and I nearly passed out _then,”_ the elf snapped at the other. “Now if we could hurry along, then I’d like to make sure the world isn’t going to end.”

The Seeker scoffed before stalking past Cullen.

“If you’ve got any available personnel, send them our way,” she ordered briskly, striding forward. “We’ll attempt to close it.”

“You might meet the apostate and the dwarf up the road!” he called after them. He had no idea if she heard him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea if anyone reads this, but here it is - at this point, my Lavellan is extremely terrified. I did not show it too well due to me writing this at 2am and currently not being able to add things to it 'cause WORK, but hopefully you understand.

In the heat of the moment, Varric was glad Chuckles was around. Otherwise, this tiny breach would’ve overrun them long before; as it was, he was running out of bolts and he didn’t really like knives.

Chuckles’ ice magic was suddenly joined by blazing fire. The demons seemed to turn, _en masse,_ to gaze at the new mage.

“Get out of the way!”

An immolation circle appeared below him.

Chuckles _froze him_ before he could move. In hindsight, it was a good thing, too – the mage had only given him about a second’s warning before the immolation circle exploded into a fiery inferno.

“Give me your hand!” Chuckles barked at the new person as the ice wore off; he turned to see a line of green connecting a young elvhen woman’s hand to the rip.

She tugged it seemingly unconsciously, and it closed with a pop.

Now that he could see her, he realized that patches of her hair were definitely white, but the rest was an almost ruby color.

“Good to see you here,” Varric announced, causing violet eyes to gaze at him. “Varric Tethras. Heard you dropped out of the Fade. And this is Bianca,” he nodded towards Bianca.

A smirk appeared on her lips, her eyes turning to Bianca. Varric waited for the inevitable _you named your crossbow Bianca?_ moment. “You were in Kirkwall, weren’t you? Hawke spoke of you.”

Varric blinked before snorting.

“Ah, you must be that Dalish elf she mentioned in passing before she vanished. Nice to meet you.”

“And I am Solas, if there must be introductions,” Chuckles interrupted, causing the other elf to offer him a smile.

“Adhlea Lavellan,” she said. “How did you know it would work?”

She wiggled her fingers.

Solas shrugged his head. “I did not,” he admitted evenly. “I took a risk.”

“Shall we continue?” Seeker Pentaghast looked like she was _vibrating_ with frustration. “I would very much like to pull the sky back together.”

“There’s only a giant hole in it!” the elf woman grinned sarcastically. “Might take a few tries. Just because I’ve got magic fingers doesn’t mean I’m all-powerful, Seeker.”

“I have lyrium potions,” Solas offered.

The female mage turned to the male. “Thank you, but I would honestly rather die before I take lyrium potions, Solas.”

She spun on her heel and began to run towards the hole in the sky.

~:~

Any panic she felt was forced into a ball, to be used as fuel for later as she faced the Pride demon. She used her meager rogue skills and vanished.

See, it _was_ possible for a rogue to be a mage and vice versa. If you had the aptitude for both, you trained for both. Training in only one when you could do both was just stupid and could cost a lot of lives; Syven was amazing at being a rogue, not so much with magic despite him being the clan’s First. Adhlea was amazing with magic, not so much with her rogue abilities. Even so, she summoned electricity to fry this guy before leaping on it. Yes, there was a risk of friendly fire, but _this_ was worth it.

Adhlea had only done this once, and that was when she’d been thirteen and templars had found her in the woods. After they’d finished with her, she’d refused to be their victim.

One had burned as her blades sunk into her flesh. The other had fallen victim to her own blood and wolves’ teeth. One had ran as she’d killed his fellow templars.

Adhlea made this demon burn as she poured her pain into it, fire flaring into existence on the weapons, boiling the demon from the inside. She shoved all her emotions into those points, ignoring the electricity washing over her as it tried to get her off, as Solas used his abilities.

It exploded, sending her flying. Her body slammed into a wall.

She could _feel_ bones cracking, but still; she got up. She got up, trembling as she faced the Breach.

She pushed her hand to the sky. Her arm glowed, pain jabbing into her body and making her vision darken. A line connected the two; Adhlea felt like it resisted her. She poured her mana into her shaking arm, feeling the Breach reluctantly fuse together.

She closed it.

“ _Yes!”_ Cassandra shouted, her face littered with shallow cuts.

Adhlea swayed.

“Yay,” she mumbled before the ground rushed up to meet her face, not five feet away from the previous place she’d passed out at; she didn’t know she didn’t hit it because of a quick apostate elf.


	12. Chapter 12

When she woke up, she was on a hard bed. Given that she’d always slept on the loveseat in her own spacious rooms in the chateau Gaspard had given to her, she was not ungrateful; she was simply surprised at how badly her back hurt.

A door opened. She turned. The elf dropped the plate, looking shocked.

“Oh, apologies,” the elf gasped, bowing. “Leliana will want to know you’re awake!”

“Wait – “

“She said at once, Herald!”

 _Herald?_ The title stunned her for long enough that the elf was gone. She heard the loud mutters cease; Adhlea sat up, glanced at the shoes and then the bandages on the table.

It would be a bit harder; she _had_ grown accustomed to shoes, but she’d forego them for now. Adhlea quickly bandaged her feet and ignored her hair, instead just leaving it as it was.

She _did_ run her fingers through it, just in case.

She then got out of bed fully, stepping to the door and opening it.

 _Sweet Sylaise,_ there were dozens of people out there, bowing their heads.

She walked past them. “Herald,” some of them muttered. “Andraste,” others whispered.

 _I am not Andraste,_ she thought with a certain amount of horror as she practically fled to the Chantry. Her beliefs, despite the amount of elvhen servants she’d collected from Val Royeaux’s _very_ Andrastrian alienage, remained staunchly Dalish.

She heard a Chantry man blustering. “She is _not_ Andraste, nor her Herald! This is _heresy!”_

“Then, good ser, I suppose you can burn me at the stake,” she said, interrupting whatever Commander Rutherford was going to say. “Then we can all cheerfully leave this place and you can go back to your daily live – oh, wait.” She snapped her fingers, enjoying the bewilderment on Leliana’s and Cassandra’s faces as she did so. “I’ve got the only thing that can stop the fucking hole in the sky from growing any bigger. Unless you want it?” She lifted her arm, then trailed her eyes over it. “Damn. What do you know, my arm _isn’t removable.”_

“And you wouldn’t want to hang her quite yet,” Leliana said, her voice measured, “for we still have not ascertained whether or not a corpse could close the Breach; given the fact it has nearly killed her before and nearly vanished both times, we can assume _not.”_

The Chantry man spluttered incoherently. He ran off with a glare, babbling about telling the clerics in Val Royeaux. Adhlea turned to Cullen.

“I know him,” she announced, turning to Leliana. “He and a mage named Minaeve came to my residence.”

Cullen’s jaw dropped. “Forgive me, I – “

“In front of everyone, address her as _Herald,”_ Leliana hissed, gesturing for them to enter the Chantry. “It is for the good of everyone involved. Knowing her as the Duchess now would only cause them to lose faith in the Inquisition.”

“Faith in an organization that is barely a month old,” Adhlea said, glancing to Cullen as they tread the length of the Chantry. “I assumed you wanted me known as Andraste’s Herald so whichever way this goes, faith in the Inquisition sparks?”

Leliana simply offered her an enigmatic smile.

“I assume that you’ll need to return to your home soon,” Leliana told her, “if you are not going to use your title anyway.”

“Only if my husband comes to visit,” Adhlea replied as Leliana opened the furthest door. “And even then, if he comes it shall be from Orlais and he does not tend to check and see if I am in the chateau the moment he arrives.”

Leliana chuckled lightly. “It seems you are well-aware of this fact.”

“I asked a servant to pose as me in my rooms to see if Gaspard would see if I was there while I spent the week in the woods,” Adhlea said dryly. “She told me that he did not come the entire week.”

Leliana stared at her for a moment. “Your marriage is certainly unconventional.”

Adhlea tilted her head. “Perhaps.”

A throat cleared.

Adhlea turned to gaze at the rather outrageously-dressed woman; seeing as her gaze was pleasant, Adhlea assumed this one was rather keen on being nice rather than playing the Game.

“ _Andaran atish’an,”_ the woman greeted.

Adhlea’s jaw dropped.

“You speak Elvhen?” she asked, her eyes bright and a smile on her face.

The woman smiled sheepishly. “You just heard the summation of my knowledge, actually,” she said. Antivan, then. “I am Josephine Montilyet, diplomat from Antiva. ‘Tis a pleasure indeed to meet you, Herald.”

Adhlea sighed. “I thank you, Josephine. I go by Kerrah.”

Adhlea was for clan, not outsiders.

The door opened behind them once more. Cassandra entered. Adhlea turned, her eyes meeting the human warrior’s. Cassandra looked away, then her eyes skittered down her clothes.

“Whose idea was to dress her in such clothes?” Cassandra questioned as she looked down at the clothes Adhlea was currently wearing.

“No idea,” Leliana said, frowning. “Is there something wrong with it?”

Adhlea glanced down.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” she said after a moment.

“You are a mage, are you not?”

Adhlea nodded, blinking.

“Those clothes aren’t fit for anyone but a servant,” Cassandra criticized.

Just for that… “Do only _elven_ servants wear this?” She wasn’t _oblivious._ Even the servants at the chateau wore at least a band identifying them as servants of the de Chalons household. Here in Haven she’d noticed that there were more elves wearing this clothing than there were humans.

Cassandra frowned. “Yes, but what has that got to do with anything? You are a noble.”

“I will wear what I wish,” Adhlea said, curtly. “Now, what is it you dragged me here for, exactly?” She turned to Leliana, anger in her veins. Anger that she tried to suppress, but…

“I wanted to ask you if you would go to the Hinterlands to find a Chantry mother,” Leliana said, gazing at her. “There are also a number of Breach rifts in the Hinterlands. Taking care of them might be a way to gather more supporters.”

Adhlea nodded. “Who would I be taking?”

Leliana looked surprised. “I was thinking it would take a lot more to get you to talk to a Chantry mother,” she said, before her eyes narrowed as Adhlea raised a single brow. “Ah. I see.”

“Exactly,” Adhlea nodded. “So long as she does not try to convert me, I’m fine.”

It was at that moment everyone in the room seemed to connect just _why._

“You’re not Andrastrian, still,” Cullen blurted.

Adhlea smiled and shook her head.

“I will never be,” she promised. “Who am I taking?”


	13. Chapter 13

The first journey was painful. Cassandra had the map, but they had to take a quick detour due to their lack of horses. Solas’ face was neutral upon seeing the sprawling estate, Cassandra’s eyes were wide at the lack of guards on the outside of the iron gate and wall, and Varric just whistled.

“Wow, Dahlia. Didn’t know you were _this_ rich,” Varric said, sounding rather impressed.

“Well, it’s not something I like to boast,” Adhlea muttered, “to people that are not in the know.”

The Game, of course, was about making hidden threats and using money to follow through. She whistled, a piercing bird’s cry that shattered the peace of the day.

Her brother appeared and slammed her to the ground, a fist slamming next to her head.

“You –“ he looked like he was struggling not to swear, then abandoned it. “ _Fenedhis lasa, asa’ma’lin!_ I thought the Void had taken you!”

Adhlea rolled her eyes and used her strength to shove him off.

“I’m alive, little brother,” she said, standing as he did. “Unfortunately, brother... I’m known now as the Herald of Andraste because of this.” She lifted her dominant hand. Yes, she used both, but it was far harder to do things with her right than her left. She’d only started using her right with regularity since she’d married Gaspard due to Vivienne pointing out people would _know_ she was left-handed if the ink kept smearing her letters.

Her brother’s silver eyes narrowed at the green cracks in her skin.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with the hole in the sky,” he said, slowly. “Still, best we don’t talk out here.”

They don’t have time for tea, even as Varaina appeared and hugged her.

“Varaina, we’re on a mission,” Adhlea said to her, clasping her hands in a way she knew would instinctively calm her, like she’d calmed Calia. “Please have the others not say anything about this. I’d rather not Gaspard know right now.”

It took a minute. Varaina looked excited.

“Does that mean I get to pretend to be _you?”_

Adhlea took a deep breath. “Please don’t,” she requested. “You can’t wear a mask to save your life. If Gaspard announces his arrival, send me a letter and I’ll be here as fast as I can. Evander will look over the staff; I apologize for this.”

Varaina shook her head. “I understand,” she said, her eyes flashing with a fire Adhlea had never seen before. “It has to do with the Conclave, right?”

“I thought you were dead,” Syven said, looking ill at ease as he stared at her. “ _Asa’ma’lin_ –“ He looked at her, and she looked down, ashamed. His face hadn’t changed, but his eyes said everything.

_You almost left me alone._

_I didn’t mean to, little brother._

“I’m going to tell Keeper Istimaethoriel,” Syven announced.

“You do that,” Adhlea said with a smile. “Keep Varaina safe, brother. I came to borrow some horses. I’m headed to the Hinterlands.”

“Oh. No, I’m coming –“

Adhlea gave him her Look. The Look had been Keeper Deshanna’s before The Incident which led to Syven’s vallaslin, but Adhlea had had years to perfect it.

“ _Protect. Varaina,”_ she ordered. “Or ask another from the clan to do it.”

Syven hesitated, but finally nodded as he scowled.

~:~

“That’s one of your clan-mates?”

Adhlea blinked over at Solas.

“My brother, yes,” she replied, once more turning to face the front even as they entered the Hinterlands from the east. They had yet to get to the Crossroads – that would take another day and a half more.

“Your situation… Is unique, I presume?”

Adhlea snorted. “You presume correctly. I’m the only elf in all of Thedas to have such a position. Dalish, heathen – all of that. I would have an easier time if I were not a mage.”

“A Dalish mage. Talking about your Keeper suggests you remain in contact with them?” It was posed as a question. Adhlea sighed, looking up at the sky. She could not see the edges of the Breach this far from it; good, that meant her clan shouldn’t be able to see most of it.

“My Keeper sends my brother to check up on me,” she said after a long moment, “because she knows I would not do well with the other members of the clan. They… Do not like what my Keeper has bid me to do, and do not think I do _enough._ Syven alone… He, and his judgement – or lack of – I can handle. Although, he does not get along with other women.” She threw a teasing glance at Solas. “He was halfway to throwing himself upon _you.”_

Solas, for a city elf, took no offense at that.

Cassandra cleared her throat as Solas went to speak.

“Your brother chooses the company of men?” Cassandra looked mildly confused.

Adhlea glanced at her. “My brother chooses whatever gender he desires on the day he desires it,” she informed Cassandra dryly. “I, personally, desire men more than women. However, if the Dread Wolf comes to me as a woman, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Solas chuckled. “Isn’t the Dread Wolf, in your mythology, a male?”

“Ah, but the Dread Wolf is a _trickster,”_ Adhlea corrected sagely. “I’ve no doubt that, should the Dread Wolf wish, they would come as a woman. I’d still have no complaints.”

“I’d hate to be _your_ Dread Wolf,” Varric remarked. “You seem to have a plan in mind should you encounter him.”

Adhlea nodded, turning to him. “Merrill has one, no?” she questioned; Varric shook his head.

“Merrill was…” Varric heaved a sigh. “Merrill was banished from Clan Sabrae.”

Adhlea’s eyes widened.

“ _Why?”_ she realized her voice was loud. “Why?” she repeated, softer.

Varric looked ill at ease. “Few months ago, before the Seeker over there dragged me from Kirkwall, she found something in the Arbor Wilds – however, a witch there informed the Empress and humans took it.”

Adhlea frowned. “What could be so important that she’d be _banished_ from Clan Sabrae?”

Varric shrugged. “She called it an Eluvian or something.”

Adhlea jerked her horse’s reins to a complete stop.

“An _Eluvian?”_ she repeated. “A human informed _Celene_ about it? _Why?_ Humans can’t use it.”

“Unless they know how to enter it,” Solas added, so low it might not have been meant for Adhlea to hear.

“Why’s an Eluvian so important?” Cassandra demanded.

Adhlea flicked her reins, glancing at Solas. She may not know him, but right then, they exchanged glances of concern.

“No reason,” Adhlea lied through her teeth. “So long as they don’t figure out how to use it,” she added under her breath, spurring her horse on.


	14. Chapter 14

Solas remained silent as he watched the young elf talking with Mother Giselle, looking at her in quite a new light. She was married to the Grand Duke of the _shem,_ still in contact with her clan, _and_ was unaffiliated with any Circle.

She had power, money, and was changing things slowly, even if it was in her own chateau. It didn’t escape his eyes that all the servants save a few were elves. He truly didn’t doubt her Dalish heritage, for she had spoken rather proudly of it before. She had not broken by the _shem,_ but –

Maybe it was just Solas. There was an air about her around templars, even when they’d managed to run into a few. _She stayed well away from them._

Maybe it was just a fear of Circles – Solas doubted it as he thought it. He dismissed it moments later as she scooted back an inch as templars appeared to glare threateningly at her.

“Apostates!”

The templars turned. Adhlea was gone before they could make a stride, a barrier settling around her as she darted towards the apostate mages.

“Mages!” she called, loudly. “Please, stop attacking the innocents!”

“ _They_ have labeled us _apostates!_ We are people as well as mages. Please step aside,” the mage added. For a killer, the mage was rather polite.

The second mage summoned a fireball. “Get the fuck out of here, _knife-ear,”_ the mage sneered. “Or I’ll roast you.”

Adhlea withdrew her own staff, fireballs igniting and swirling around the tip.

Solas frowned minutely. If she’d been taken to a Circle, she should’ve been unmarked. Not many got their _vallaslin_ early in life; certainly not early enough for her to be showing _this_ level of skill. Dalish mages seemed to be devastating when it came to a few selective attacks, but didn’t tend to be able to hold fireballs at the tip of their staves as this one was doing.

(He may have slept for a few… [ _thousand, give or take]_ centuries, but he _did_ hear things. Plus, Knowledge was a friend of his.)

“I may be a _knife-ear,”_ Adhlea said, her voice angry, “but I’m also the only one willing to spare your fucking lives, you damned fools. So, put down your fucking staves and I’ll let you join the Inquisition. Deal?”

“You’re –“the second mage’s fireball sputtered. “You’re part of the _Inquisition?_ I heard they hated mages!”

“The Maker loves all,” Mother Giselle called out, the two templars pausing in their silent approach to the trio of mages. “’Tis why she is here, the beloved Herald of Andraste!”

Solas raised a brow. Daring move.

_Her move._

The two apostates were being joined by others now. Solas moved, taking his own staff out just in case. He heard Varric and Cassandra move as the first mage finally spoke again.

“You’re a Dalish, Andrastrian elf?”

“I am _not_ the Herald of Andraste,” Adhlea said, very firmly. “I believe Andraste may have existed, after all there _are_ texts, but I am _Dalish._ Sweet Sylaise, I feel like I explain that to _everyone!”_

The second mage and the first one look towards the approaching group.

“Look,” the first mage said, looking very earnest, “we believe you; we do. It’s just hard to when there’s Templars everywhere. The apostates…” The first mage looked to the second. “Look, just go to the Witchwood and ask for Lady Trevelyan. She’ll talk with you, but she’s got a temper.”

Solas looked to Adhlea. At that moment, Adhlea had a wild grin on her face.

“I look forward to meeting her,” she said, her voice deadly.

~:~

Lady Elaine Trevelyan, of House Trevelyan in Ostwick and formerly of the Kirkwall Circle, eyed the returning apostate mages with annoyance in her eyes.

“She’s the bleedin’ Herald of Andraste!” Her second-in-command, Arthur, looked horrified. “And an _elf,_ at that!”

Elaine blinked at him. “Excuse me? _What_ did you just say?”

Elaine wasn’t a believer in the Chantry. She _did_ believe in the Maker, just… Not to the point of adoring the Chant. Essentially, she wasn’t an extremist. She did _not_ believe that elves were inferior; in fact, her third-in-command was an elf; _was._ Minaeve had left to join some Inquisition thing at the request of a Chantry sister.

“Well, the Chantry mother we saw at the Crossroads said she was,” her new third, a woman by the name of Allana, said, shoving Arthur away. “But she claimed to be Dalish; even had those markings Minaeve claimed were on most Dalish. So, I told her to come here.”

Allana was not easy to fool. If Allana exposed their hideout, then it was best the apostates be ready for her.

“How long until they come?” Elaine asked after a moment.

Allana shook her head. “Not long, I’d guess.”

Indeed, it wasn’t. Light _was_ fading by the time the Dalish elf and her group came, thankfully without templars. Allana was watching the front, making certain their wards weren’t shattered by enemy templars (seeing as, yes, some templars like Evangeline had decided to stay with their ward – not because they feared that they might do what that one mage had done in Kirkwall, but because of _love._ ).

Elaine took a deep breath, standing up and feeling quite like she was getting ready to be put on trial.


	15. Chapter 15

Varric could _not_ make this shit up if he tried. A Dalish mage called the Herald of a Maker she didn’t believe in, a hedge mage with no fashion sense, a Seeker who tended to hit first and ask questions never (unless the Divine called for it), and a dwarf all gathered in front of a bunch of human apostate mages.

Oh, and let’s not forget that the Dalish mage in question was currently married into the royal family of Orlais.

It did show here, as well. As Adhlea stood in front of Lady Trevelyan, she looked like a noble. One noble to another.

“Lady Trevelyan,” Adhlea began, folding her arms behind her back, awkwardly around her staff, “I am Kerrah Lavellan of Clan Lavellan. I request that you and your mages consider joining the Inquisition.”

“Why should we?” Lady Trevelyan looked like she was at home on her throne of roots. “You cannot guarantee our safety, _Herald.”_ Her sneer was obvious.

“I am a mage, myself, Lady Trevelyan,” Adhlea said calmly. “Besides, once it is known, I _can_ guarantee your safety _personally_.”

“How?” Lady Trevelyan stood, glaring down at her. “You cannot stop the tides of templars from coming – “

“I _can,”_ Adhlea interrupted fiercely. “The Inquisition accepts any. If I must, I shall use my sway as Herald – “

“Herald of a Maker you do not believe in,” Lady Trevelyan said, shaking her head. “How can I believe you? Give me something, a _title_ you perceive is yours. You hold yourself as nobility – indeed with the confidence of a woman with titles abound – yet you have not said a word of them. Give me an assurance of your nobility, and I will decide if that sway is good enough.”

Varric couldn’t see Adhlea’s face, but he could see her hands tightening, squeezing each other – until they relaxed.

Adhlea straightened even further.

“I am Grand Duchess de Chalons,” she said, clearly. “I am wife of the Grand Duke Gaspard, and I hold the title of Duchess of the Frostbacks. So yes, I guarantee your safety, Lady Trevelyan; I am family, if only by extension, of the Empress herself.”

Lady Trevelyan narrowed her eyes.

“How do I not know you lie?” she asked, suspiciously.

“You do not,” Adhlea replied easily. “You can only trust me by my word. I belong to no Circle, and I am no Andrastrian. I am an apostate, same as you. I will do whatever the fuck it _takes_ to make this world better, and if that means flinging my word around carelessly, _I will do it.”_

Lady and Duchess met gaze-for-gaze.

Then Lady Trevelyan slumped and sat back down, groaning.

“We’ll take it,” the apostate said. “You going to offer the templars a chance, too?”

“Any templar that doesn’t attempt to kill us,” Adhlea replied, relaxing completely.

Lady Trevelyan nodded, looking world-weary. “Some in the camp are templars.”

“Some of the Inquisition are templars,” replied Adhlea. “Some are Seekers, some are civilians.”

The Lady Trevelyan looked up at her with a frown. “You said, _if the templars don’t try to kill you._ Why that stipulation? You did not have it for the mages, who attempted an attack.”

“Ah, but I _like_ mages,” Adhlea said, in a bright tone. “Also, templars and Dalish elves don’t tend to mix that well. Not the marked ones, anyway.”

She brushed a hand on her face.

Lady Trevelyan nodded once more. “We’ve no room for more people in our camps, I’m afraid. I’ll send my third with you. Allana, take good care of them.”

“Would be my pleasure, Lady Elaine,” the mage who’d told them the location said with a bright smile.

Varric really _couldn’t_ make this shit up. It was strange enough to see Adhlea as an elven figurehead for a god she didn’t believe in, let alone a Grand Duchess – which meant –

“You hold the land of the Frostbacks?” Cassandra was the quickest to pick at the elf.

He could see her face change as she passed him, her lips drawing tight and her shoulders hunching minutely.

“I had no knowledge of it until I was called to come to the Conclave,” she said, her voice low.

~:~

They met with Horsemaster Dennet, who apparently supplied the horses for Orlesian nobility. Allana was friendly, seemingly worry-free. They were _severely_ lucky that they didn’t run into any templars right then; Adhlea only groaned when they heard about the wolf problem.

“We can’t go to the Inquisition without someone taking care of the wolves,” Dennet said, shaking his head as he spoke with Allana. “We’d help – any cause that the Divine was planning on creating – but we just don’t have the ability to protect our druffalo. Oh, and there’s something spawning demons.”

Adhlea closed her eyes.

“You are all welcome to stay here for the night,” the horsemaster wrapped up. “Should templars come knocking, I’ll send ‘em the other way.”

They were shown to an empty horse stall that looked like it hadn’t been used for ages. Adhlea wouldn’t complain; sleeping on hay was better than sleeping on the ground.

Yet… Even as she lay there, under the horse stall, she couldn’t fall asleep.

She stood and padded out; Solas was out there, too – a fact she hadn’t noticed in a while.

The apostate turned to her as she approached; she hesitated for a moment.

“Cannot sleep, Mistress Lavellan?”

Perhaps it was the way he said her name. Not _Herald,_ not _Duchess…_ Syven himself was the only person in _years_ to not call her _Duchess_ or _miss._ Not even her clan-mates called her Adhlea. They called her ‘Second’. As in, Second to Syven’s First.

“No,” she said quietly, remaining standing. “You?”

“I find myself unwilling to go into the Fade this night.” She distantly recalled he was something called a ‘dreamer’. She’d never met one. Deshanna had never said if her mother was one, though she sincerely doubted it. “Please, sit.”

She shook herself out of her thoughts and sat next to him. His presence was very comforting; maybe it was because he was a mage? Adhlea did not quite know.

“I hope I do not bother you,” she murmured to him quietly.

“You do not,” he replied, just as quietly. Then, “Were you brought up as a First?”

She looked to him in confusion. “I’m sorry?” she tried.

“I realize many of your mannerisms are similar to the Firsts I’ve encountered in the Fade,” Solas said, rather quickly. “You’re quiet, but then you can be quite deadly. Forgive my curiosity.”

Adhlea chuckled.

“I was fourteen when I got my _vallaslin,”_ she said after a momentary silence. “One of the first in my generation. My brother did mine with Keeper Istimaethoriel’s help. You must know few twins are born in the clans, let alone a pair of _magical_ twins,” she added, a wry twitch to her lips. “Our father was not a mage, but we assume our mother was. Anyway, I was chosen that summer to be Keeper Istimaethoriel’s First, while Syven was to be the backup.” She paused. “I was barely fifteen when Gaspard decided to threaten my clan’s safety in order for him to gain a wife. My keeper agreed to the terms; the order was re-arranged, and I became Keeper Istimaethoriel’s Second.”

“You _assume_ your mother was?” Solas questioned, still in that calm voice.

“Our mother was killed by Tevene slavers not soon after we turned four,” Adhlea said, softly. “She was of Clan Sabrae, so Clan Sabrae only ever allowed her to see us when they were in the area. She was visiting and got killed by them; luckily for my brother and I the rest of the clan came back not long afterwards.”

Neither she nor Syven recalled their mother’s face. Deshanna had assured her it was only trauma. But meeting Varaina and _knowing_ that Syven’s and Adhlea’s father did _not_ have red hair, both _had_ to take after their mother. Varaina was a mage – inclined to the lightning element. Syven was inclined to ice, and Adhlea to fire. Fenris was _not_ a mage, as was made clear when he did _not_ get in trouble in Kirkwall (Adhlea had several _very_ vague letters from him, mostly complaining that Hawke made him write).

“The Dalish must be very careful not to attract too much attention, I suppose,” Solas said, still looking at the stars.

“For the most part, yes,” agreed Adhlea. “But as the Dales are unofficially the Dalish elves’ land, we chose to remain. Of course, some of us settled on the fringes, because we _know_ we can not survive fully without the humans’ help; some others – like a certain clan I shall not mention – decide to live in the woods fully yet still bend to the official practices.”

Solas turned to her, looking curious.

“What clan?” he wanted to know.

Adhlea grimaced. “You know Minaeve, the creature researcher at Haven?” Not that Adhlea had time to talk to her.

“I do,” he responded, interest in his eyes.

“Her former clan has a habit of tossing aside mage children,” Adhlea admitted. “My clan and Clan Sabrae usually have a trade – our male mages help sire other mages in other clans, and occasionally a female mage will help. It’s usually discouraged for the female mage.”

She blushed and looked away from Solas.

“Forgive me, I must be so tired I’m speaking so much.”

“Please do not apologize. I tend not to have much contact with the Dalish. It’s… enlightening,” the other said. “I do not truly understand their need for worshiping the… _gods.”_

Adhlea snorted and glanced out of the corner of her eyes. “Keeper Istimaethoriel, when she became Keeper, became Keeper over a _very_ revivalist clan. Now, we only do the major celebrations.”

“What changed?” Solas enquired. “Did she become Keeper because of a disagreement, or…?” he trailed off.

“My Keeper told my brother and I, as prospective Keepers, that she had met with someone who was firm on who and what we were,” Adhlea said, her smile fading as she thought back. “She told us that when we were ready, she’d tell us. Now, Syven might never know because I asked him to watch over Varaina and I will most likely never know because I’m probably never going back there for good.”

“You never know what the fates may hold for you,” Solas told her with a soft smile.

“Enough about me!” Adhlea nudged him with her shoulder. “What about you? Where are you from?”

Solas turned from her. “A small village,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “I have long since parted ways from it.”

“Did they not like the fact you were a mage?” Adhlea wondered.

Solas chuckled. “I am what is known as a dreamer,” he said, looking at her. “When I dream, I dream in the Fade. I pass through the Veil and walk through dreams.”

Adhlea’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked, fascinated.

“Yes,” Solas nodded. “Spirits are very kind, if you meet the correct ones. I have a dear friend in one such spirit, one of Wisdom.” He gestured all around them. “Memories in certain spots – I can visit them.”

Adhlea closed her eyes as she listened to his rather smooth voice. “Can you tell me about your visits to the Fade?” she asked quietly.

“Certainly. Once, I slept in a forest that…”


	16. Chapter 16

Solas finished his story, quietly as he was assured she was asleep. Glancing at his company, he was assured she was, her face relaxed in sleep. Solas actually wasn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep; he was, however, pleased that she was getting some sleep.

He realized that he, too, should sleep. Lightly, though, in case a demon wandered from the hill above.

Or in case the apostate mage she’d welcomed was not actually quite so… _good._

Despite it all, he caught only a couple hours of sleep. Unlike if he’d slept in Haven or elsewhere where he was not actually needed, he tended to sleep until the sun’s rays hit his face.

Surely enough, the others woke up before he; yet he still appeared awake when they appeared.

“Wow, you two look comfortable.” Varric’s unnecessarily loud voice stirred Kerrah from her sleep.

(He knew, from Knowledge, the Dalish elves had stuck to a good naming system. One private name for clan use, a formal name that everyone used, and the clan name at the end of it. He would respect her and _not_ use her private name.)

“I don’t know about him, but I was,” the elf lied with a smile. “Shall we go on?”

“Yeah. We’ve got demons and shit to deal with today,” Varric said as the smaller elf stood. “Sure you’re up for it?”

“If we don’t clear out the demons by the end of the day, we’re not going to ever do it,” Kerrah said with a grimace. “Let’s get started.”

The group started off, Cassandra shooting Solas a dark look as she stormed by.

“Um, mister elf,” the human apostate said, looking to him with wide eyes. “Does she always…” The apostate made a vague motion towards Cassandra.

Solas opened his mouth to answer diplomatically when the current noble of the ground cut in.

“Yes. Cassandra doesn’t seem to like unattached mages. Or mages. Or elves. Or Varric.”

“I think that’s just the Seeker’s way of looking at things,” Solas offered quietly. “Although, your assessment about Varric is correct. She seems to despise him.”

All three mages looked to Cassandra and Varric. Cassandra was marching solidly, Varric about five human feet behind her.

“We should probably follow,” Kerrah said, hastily. “Before she looks for us.”

“Agreed,” the human said, striding forward hesitantly.

Solas stopped Kerrah.

“If you’d like, I know a spell that would ease any discomfort from the night,” he offered.

Surprise flickered in her gaze before she shook her head.

“Thank you, Solas. But not today.”

~:~

Adhlea collapsed on the side of the bank, wiping her brow as her chest heaved. Similarly, Allana looked like she’d just been running the entire town of Haven thrice over. Sounded like she was dying, too.

Solas just offered Allana a lyrium potion. Allana took it before pausing.

“Would you like this, Herald?”

Adhlea grimaced and shook her head.

“Mistress Lavellan has declined the use of lyrium potions,” Solas explained.

“That can’t be good,” Cassandra said, scowling like she always did. “What if you’re on death’s door?”

“I have my own reasons,” Adhlea said, diplomatically.

“Ah.” Allana nodded. “In my fourth year at Ostwick I nearly burned the library down,” she explained. “And I may have exploded some lyrium crystals.”

“Ostwick Circle?” Adhlea tilted her head at Allana. “You wouldn’t happen to know of a mage named Vivienne, would you?”

“Yes,” Allana replied, making a face. “Snooty, bitchy Vivienne. Her and Elaine were always at odds because of it. Ostwick was… Better than Kirkwall, at least.”

Adhlea hummed.

“Now that we’ve all calmed down,” Cassandra said after a long moment of silence, “perhaps we should tackle that wolf problem now.”

“Yeah…” Allana stood, then offered Adhlea one.

Adhlea took it; Allana staggered as Adhlea pulled.

“Sorry,” Adhlea gasped. “I’m not… Really in shape, apparently.”

“No, it’s fine,” Allana said, wincing as she shook her hand. “You just have a strong grip.”

~:~

Cassandra glanced at the ragtag group. “I’ve received a raven from Leliana,” she announced without preamble.

Both female mages groaned.

“You two will desperately need training,” Cassandra informed them in a deadpan voice.

“I don’t need much!” protested the Herald, looking all the world like a young girl as she looked up at Cassandra with a _pout._

“Please… Let me join the spirits of the Fade,” the apostate female mumbled, burying her face into her knees.

“You’re out of energy and we’ve conquered three rifts in two days!” Cassandra folded her arms. “Why _exactly_ are you two so tired?” she questioned, suddenly suspicious.

The Herald scowled as the apostate suddenly stiffened.

“We’ve been training our magic,” the Herald admitted. “What did Leliana send?”

“The name of a Grey Warden and his location,” Cassandra told her. “And the possible location of the Hero of Ferelden, though according to reports she’s been out of contact for years.” Cassandra looked up, opening her mouth again. “Unless you –“ Cassandra’s eyes narrowed on the Herald’s. The Herald stared up at her with wide eyes. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

“You _really_ don’t want to know,” the elf said, looking away. “From what I’ve heard, she’s not in the best place right now.”

Cassandra pointed towards the green hole in the sky.

“ _Nobody_ is in the best place,” she said, with an obvious effort to not scream at the Herald. “ _Where is the Hero of Ferelden?”_

“Nowhere I can reach,” the Herald glared right back.

Cassandra gripped her scroll tight, opening her mouth once more –

“I wouldn’t, Seeker.” Solas was leaning against a wall. “I’ve my doubts that the Warden didn’t go back to her own clan. Seeing as not all Dalish clans get along with each other, there’s not much you can do.”

“Not until the Arlathvhen,” the Herald mumbled.

“Maker have mercy,” Cassandra groaned. “How can you be so _childish,_ especially as you’re a duchess?”

The Herald arched a brow at her.

“Because I’ve no political obligations right now,” the Herald informed her seriously. “It would be different if you spoke as one from Nevarra. Here, right now…” She leaned back. “I’m surrounded by people who really don’t know me, I’m under the stars, and there’s no way I’m being proper until we are facing other nobles.”

Cassandra took a deep breath and pinched her nose.

 _Were all elves this strange?_ Cassandra hadn’t had much of a chance to personally interact with elves in Nevarra, what with any elves in the Seekers of Truth indoctrinated thoroughly.

The Seeker swore under her breath before pointing in a vague direction.

“Let’s see if we can’t recruit this Warden for us,” she said, scowling. “Then we return to Haven, where I will speak with Commander Rutherford about training. Maker knows you need it,” she said with a sigh. “For now, let’s sleep.”

They slipped in their tents, Cassandra sharing with the human mage, Solas going with the dwarf; the duchess was alone in her tent.

The Seeker knew the other mage wasn’t asleep, even as time ticked on and night got cooler.

“Fine,” the Seeker grumbled, stepping out without her weapons before walking over to the Herald’s empty tent, then proceeded to kick a peg down and collapsing the rest of it.

The Herald in question stared at her like she’d been caught.

“There’s room in my tent,” Cassandra said, briskly.

“Are you certain –“ the Herald started, only to stop at Cassandra’s scowl.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t serious, Herald.”

The Herald only hesitated once more before following Cassandra.

They did, eventually, fall asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. I, um. Stopped it at a weird place. Didn't fit in with the next one.

Blackwall, for the moment, ignored the mage who’d come in, talking to the men who he’d _technically_ conscripted.

“Now you know how to defend your homes,” he said to them. They were grinning as he dismissed them, this time truly turning to the mage and her fellow companions. “And you are?”

The elven mage stepped forward, her eyes the strangest shade of magenta. “Offering you a dangerous job, Warden Blackwall. Life or death. Reparation of the world. Could end in you dying.”

Well, at least she was honest.

“Ah. Well, while that _sounds_ interesting, I’ve got stuff to do.” Blackwall didn’t move as those eyes seemed to brighten as she smiled at him.

“Like what?” she asked, walking past him. “It’s an interesting place, the Hinterlands. Beautiful. But…” Blackwall’s eyes followed her backside as she turned to him, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. He did not flush, knowing that’d give him away. “The world is ending if we don’t close that Breach. You will die if you don’t help; doing this, helping us repair it… Well, honestly, you would be lauded a hero.”

It took a second to talk. Maybe it was her eyes. Probably the eyes.

“I’m afraid I’m much more a coward,” he found himself admitting to her.

She laughed. “If that’s how you want to put it. Join our rather odd group and your chances of living go up by a small, almost negligible amount. Don’t, and… Well, I can’t say your chances will get much worse.”

“What’s your name?” he asked her, eyes alight with wonder as the elf once again met his eyes.

“My name is Kerrah.”

~:~

“Is it me, or does Blackwall seem to be attracted to the Herald?” Allana tilted her head as she murmured to Varric, leaning down to speak to him.

Varric snorted. “I’m assuming she’s attracted a spirit of charisma to her somehow.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” mused Solas. “Or it’s something else entirely.” He had an expression of disapproval on his face.

Allana frowned, unable to get what he was saying.

“Oh. Maybe,” Varric responded, sounding disgusted.

“What are you two going on about?” Cassandra scowled as both the Herald and the Warden approached.

“Nothing,” Solas and Varric said in strange unison.

Cassandra muttered something that Allana couldn’t hear.

“We headed back to Haven?” The Herald sounded eager.

“Of course,” Cassandra said, shooting her a disgruntled look. “Perhaps Warden Blackwall can teach you some weaponry basics, Allana, Herald.”

“No,” the Herald said, firm. Allana chanced a glance behind them as they departed from Lake Luthias and noticed she was not to be budged. “I can wield a bow, I am good with a dagger; I will not touch a sword, Seeker.”

“Oh, all right,” Cassandra sighed. “Allana?”

“I’d love to learn!” Allana said perkily… only to backtrack. “Only if Lady Trevelyan agrees, though,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“I bet she will,” the Herald commented. “Mages are restricted, especially if they’re women. More women should learn how to defend themselves.”

The Herald moved forward, then, so Allana could not quite judge her mood.

Still, Allana agreed with that passion.


	18. Chapter 18

Seeing Haven once more was a boon to her eyes. Seeing the tents scattered in the snow, Adhlea stopped just outside them as people – the apostates from Witchwood – came out into the cold, shuddering. Adhlea’s eyes tracked to seeing Lady Trevelyan staring at her with hopeless eyes.

She glanced to her companions.

“Cassandra. You, Varric, Solas, and Blackwall – escort Allana into Haven and inform Leliana I wish to see her and whomever has refused to allow these apostates into the town.”

Cassandra nodded, not arguing in the cold air. The apostates moved out of the way as Lady Trevelyan approached and the five horses passed, Allana looking back.

“You’re staying?” Lady Trevelyan asked, folding her arms, her teeth knocking against one another.

Adhlea’s brows furrowed at the obviously freezing group.

“Where are your staves?”

Lady Trevelyan shook her head. “They took them,” she replied. “To make sure we weren’t sieging.”

Adhlea hesitated for the smallest of seconds before taking her staff off. She met Lady Trevelyan’s resigned gaze; Adhlea let the weapon stab into the snow.

“Light a fire. I’m freezing my ass off,” Adhlea scowled, looking away.

“Are you certain?” Lady Trevelyan asked.

“Yes,” Adhlea replied, looking back at her and gazing at her. “I’m certain.”

“Call me Elaine,” Lady Trevelyan offered abruptly before summoning flames and throwing them to the smoldering, weak fires.

“Call me Kerrah,” Adhlea invited before wincing. “I’m also afraid I was lying about my ass, by the way.” She offered the woman a tight smile. “I think it’s numb.”

Lady Trevelyan snorted. “Dalish elves are so strange,” Elaine muttered before putting the staff on her back and holding out her arms. With difficulty, Adhlea threw one of her legs over the saddle and slid down, Elaine catching her with a grunt before setting her on the ground. “Arthur, come get her horse and feed it. Dustin, come and get the duch – the _Herald_ – a few blankets.”

“I’m not the Herald of Andraste,” Adhlea muttered to her.

Elaine looked at her for a moment.

“Perhaps not,” she murmured. “Perhaps you are a Herald of a different divine being. Be it yours or mine, Herald – you bear a message of _something.”_

Elaine set her down.

“Now eat,” Elaine ordered.

~:~

Minor lord Bayard de Balanche strode out to the apostate camp, swelling with outrage at the audacity of a fucking _heretic_ of an elf. He did not feel any particular hatred with the elven people; but this – _this was too much._ Andraste was sacred to him.

He had allowed Divine Justinia to hold her Conclave here due to his neglect of paying the duchess that reigned these lands; more people meant he could _finally_ pay off some of his debt, of which Grand Duchess Calienne had been most forgiving with during her last year of life.

Behind him, the Left and Right Hands of the Divine strode with him.

The Herald sat on her horse, poised and angry. Her staff was on her back. She glared down at him with a fury that could’ve froze the lake over.

He refused to be intimidated.

“Lord Balanche,” the Herald said, remaining on her horse. Her mask of frozen fury pierced him moments later as she spoke once more. “I expected more respect from a lord that does not pay his Grand Duchess the proper tithe.”

He swallowed, opening his mouth. His words dried up when he spotted the ring on her finger.

The de Chalons ring that Grand Duchess Calienne had worn rested on her finger. He recognized it because the crest on her ring had been a dragon curling around it, two small wings with an amethyst stone set in between. It had been unique; Calienne had showed him once, boasting of the craftsmen in Verchiel; a craftsman who’d made the ring unique.

Here, it rested on her finger. On the finger of a woman who was not Calienne. Not the woman who’d come to collect the yearly tithe.

Yet, now, the tithe belonged to this elven woman.

“I shall forgive half the debt you still owe for the last… Hmm. Eleven, twelve years?” The elven woman smiled at him with rage in her eyes as she continued. “In the meantime, open Haven to these starving apostates.”

“Haven –“ he gathered whatever bluster he could. “Haven is mine, my lady. I cannot –“

“Ah!” The woman giggled. He hated the whimsical giggle. “My _dear_ Lord Balanche. You signed the writ of Divine Justinia, did you not? Pending my permission, as long as you received the taxes upon the land you allowed the Chantry to control you’d allow Justinia free reign. Well. Now, _I_ am telling you, as the Grand Duchess of the Frostbacks, you _will_ open the gates. Should I have the need to repeat myself, _Lord Balanche,_ I think you’ll find the two other towns will have need of a new lord, as I will demand _full_ reparations. Am. I. Understood?”

Lord Balanche, in that moment, had never hated another person so much.

“You will regret the day you threatened me, _Herald,”_ he spat as he gestured for them to open the gates – a useless gesture; they’d already had the gates wide open.

The Herald’s face changed to faux puzzlement.

“My _dear_ Lord Balanche, I never said a threat,” the Herald said, a wicked smirk twisting her red lips. It was a smirk of one assured she had won.

Balanche intended to go straight to the king of Ferelden.

He could only stand aside as the Herald flicked her horse’s reins; he could only watch as the apostates of many scattered Circles entered at the back of a mage Herald.

He swallowed his own rage and entered, ignoring the awe people were eyeing the Herald with.

He turned into his chambers and wrote a note, addressing it to one certain group. After he’d sent it, making dead certain that it was not intercepted by one of the fucking Left Hand’s ravens, he allowed himself a malicious smile before writing another letter, this time to the King.

~:~

Adhlea winced as she entered the war room with Lady Tre – _Elaine._

“Leliana, Cullen, Josephine – meet Lady Elaine Trevelyan, apostate mage of Witchwood,” Adhlea said before nodding at Cassandra. “Thank you, Seeker.”

_Thank you for allowing me such power._

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I did it because I didn’t want people to starve,” the Seeker said with her usual scowl.

“I did quite enjoy Balanche’s reaction,” Leliana smirked. “Anyway, Val Royeaux has demanded you answer for your heresy.” Her smile slid off like water off of a duck. “As a Grand Duchess, you have clout there. But I assume you wanted to arrive _not_ as that. Seeing as your face is unmasked… Well. I can see why Cullen did not recognize you.” Leliana turned, bringing a heap of clothes. “An Orlesian battlemage outfit.” She took out a pair of boots. “I’ve heard of your comfort with daggers. I’d suggest not bringing a stave, but I truly do wish to not have you killed – even so. These loops will hold daggers in them.” She gestured in the boots before rifling through the outfit and taking out the jacket. “I used about a hundred spies to get this for you,” she said, looking directly into Adhlea’s eyes. “This jacket will hold your staff – and, I’m not kidding with you, has been enchanted to withstand a veritable army’s attacks. However, one time use and I’m not even certain it _hasn’t_ been used.”

Adhlea swallowed.

“That’s a rare item,” Elaine said, awe in her voice.

“When do I leave?” Her voice did _not_ tremble.

“I will be there to argue your case,” Cassandra said, her permanent scowl softened a bit. “Lord Seeker Lucius should see reason.”

Adhlea looked to Leliana, who set the jacket down.

“A week.” Leliana offered her a tight smile. “A week, and then you get to convince the people you’re a Herald of a woman you don’t believe in.”

 _I believe she was real._ Keeper Deshanna was a major factor in that. _I just do not believe **I** am her Herald._

Adhlea gathered the clothes, muttered her goodbyes to the war council, and stepped out.

~:~

Solas was out of his cabin, warming himself up by the fire out there while attempting to draw when he heard approaching footsteps crunching against the snow.

He stood, closing the sketching book to protect the pictures, set his charcoal aside.

“You’re busy,” the young elf said, her eyes darting to the sketching pad. “I’ll just come back another time.”

“No, I was merely drawing,” he said, dismissing it. “Is everything… are you in good health? You look pale.”

“Just…” The Herald sighed. “My problems will go away,” she finally said. “Might I ask you something about magic?”

Solas nodded, stepping aside and brushing snow off the other side of the bench before sitting, pulling his sketching book in his lap.

“I’m assuming we shall be talking for a small bit,” he explained as he gestured to the open spot. “Please, sit.”

She swallowed and sat. She looked the fire, obviously in deep thought; when Solas wondered if she was actually going to talk, she did.

“What are your thoughts on blood magic?”

Not _wholly_ unexpected, but still… he did not expect that to be the first question she asked.

“I, myself, do not practice it,” he said after a pregnant pause. “The people of the Chantry liken it to being an abomination – that is why templars execute those who use it. However, inherently there is nothing wrong with it, save for the intent behind the spell.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “How do you – I mean, could someone become a dreamer?”

Solas was already shaking his head in denial. “No. One must be born one. Though, a dreamer _can_ pull you into the Fade or watch your dreams.” Feeling her gaze, he smiled reassuringly at her. “I do not peek into anyone’s dreams.”

She nodded, looking only mildly reassured.

“You spoke of dreaming in a forest,” she said, tapping her fingers against her leg nervously. “Could you tell me a story I _won’t_ fall asleep to?”

Solas noticed her trembling, though it seemed to go away.

“Perhaps we should go inside,” he suggested, glancing pointedly at the darkening sky. “And we can speak of what I learned in warmth.”

Gratefully, she ducked into the warmth as he opened his door. He allowed a tiny smile at her shock.

“It’s so _bare,”_ she said, unable to help herself.

“I prefer it,” Solas said, shutting the door. “Would you like anything to drink?”

She nodded. He poured her a drink. She tossed it down easily.

“You’re afraid of something, right?” She lowered the cup, staring at him. “I do not pretend to understand the Dalish,” he said without preamble. “In fact, as I have walked the Fade, I know more truths about this world than many.”

She gripped the cup hard, then relaxed it.

“I know some of what the Dalish were was lost,” she said, her voice tight, her eyes never wavering from his. “But not all of it was false.”

“I never said it was,” he replied, steadily. “I simply said I knew more truths than most. I do not speak this to insult you, _da’len;_ rather, I speak it because you asked for knowledge. I am eager to share what I know.”

She set the cup down.

“I’m not –“ she paused. “I am not afraid of my magic. I am afraid…” She took a deep breath. “This was a mistake,” she said, walking to the door, opening it and letting a blast of cold air in. She didn’t turn even as she said one last thing before shutting the door. “Thank you, _hahren.”_

Solas frowned minutely.


	19. Val Royeaux: Chantry and Templars

_I am most likely going to die._ She approached Val Royeaux with a tightness in her chest she’d more recently come to know as the kind of tightness before a battle. _I am going before the Chantry, who will denounce me a heretic and do what they did to –_

She snorted to herself.

_Who am I kidding? They won’t do that. They’ll probably hang me._

“Everything okay, Herald?” Varric’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. She turned to them – meeting Cassandra’s eyes, Cassandra shook her head grimly. They didn’t know why they were headed to Val Royeaux.

“I’m going to ride ahead a bit,” Adhlea chirped. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself,” she added to Cassandra, who looked like she was going to object before turning and flicking her reins to get away from Varric and Blackwall. Her horse leaped forward, a full gallop forward.

She rode hard for about thirty minutes before she stopped due to someone in the middle of the road.

“ _Whoa!”_ she called, her horse circling and calming down. The man in the middle of the road smiled up at her.

“Hello, fellow traveler! You wouldn’t happen to be the Herald of Andraste?”

“Nope!” Adhlea wasn’t a particularly good liar at the best of times – never had been – but she had a feeling that this man just _might_ let her pass if –

“Herald!”

The smile on the man’s face never moved.

“ _Thanks, Cassandra!”_ Adhlea jumped off her horse as the man released the hold he had on his bowstring.

“Knives?” he offered.

“Who exactly are you?” she demanded.

“Someone with nothing against you in particular,” the man said. Adhlea took out one of her knives, eyes never leaving his. “However, we were contracted to kill you by an old Ferelden lord.”

“Oh , for Mythal’s sake – could this wait until _after_ I come back from Val Royeaux?” She was honestly curious. “See, the Chantry there could very well kill me. If I _don’t_ die, you can attempt to kill me after, if you’d like.”

The man tilted his head. “Well, the contract _specifically_ stated to kill you _before_ you entered Val Royeaux, so –“

“And what if by killing me you anger someone else entirely? You’re probably from the House of Repose, yes?” The man’s cordial nod made Adhlea nod. “I am not only the so-called Herald of Andraste, but also the wife of Gaspard de Chalons. If you decide to attempt to kill me, Gaspard will do his utmost to see me avenged, as he looked thoroughly into his late wife’s death – if only to keep up appearances.” She could see a thoughtful expression on the assassin’s face. “Okay, how’s this. Discuss it fully with the House of Repose and if they say differently, I will fucking _stand still_ in your attempt. Okay?”

The assassin nodded. “You make a valid point, Duchess. Please wait for our response.”

He bowed and vanished.

Adhlea slid her knife back into her boot before taking a deep breath and sitting astride her horse once more.

“Polite assassins?” Varric laughed. “And here I thought the Antivan Crows were polite.”

“The House of Repose is the Orlesian equivalent of the Antivan Crows,” Adhlea replied, this time going at their pace. “I’ve no doubt Nevarra and Ferelden have similar Houses or organizations such as these.”

“Not the other places like Orzammar or the Dales?” Cassandra shot back.

Adhlea jerked her head to Varric.

“Varric is the first dwarf I have ever met,” she announced, “and dwarves from Orzammar don’t leave the Deep Roads. And elves?” she snorted. “Elves are embedded into the House of Crows with humans. Plus.” Adhlea turned a smirk that she knew looked just like her brother’s when he was talking about cannibalism to that Dalish elf they’d met when she’d first come to Val Royeaux. “Do you think the Dalish are helpless?”

Cassandra stared at her, actually paling. Varric laughed.

“And _that,_ right there,” he boomed, “is why you’re _Dahlia.”_

“We’re arriving,” Blackwall commented, distracting everyone from the as she turned, nausea clawing at her insides.

They entered the gates without being stopped; these were the Moon Gates, so there were no guards in the daytime.

(Adhlea really doubted Celene’s wisdom at not having guards at the Moon Gate in the day.)

A woman in distinct Enchanter’s robes – the leader of the mage rebellion, Adhlea assumed, as she did not seem to want to be _seen._ A hood covered her head as she stopped the riding group from entering.

“Herald,” she said, her eyes meeting Adhlea’s. “I am Grand Enchanter Fiona. The mages under my command await you at Redcliffe. I have heard talk of your stand with Lady Trevelyan, and if you would hear the mages out, we would ask you meet us there.”

Adhlea nodded. “Thank you, Grand Enchanter. I will think upon your words, should I survive the Chantry.”

Fiona _smirked._

“I highly doubt you’ll have an issue here,” she said before striding past Adhlea. “Seekers have arrived; the Lord Seeker is not in a pleasant mood.” Adhlea blinked over at Cassandra.

“If Lord Seeker Lucius is here, then perhaps the Seekers would be open to helping us,” Cassandra said, a look of hope on her face.

“I’m a Dalish elf mage. There’s no way Lord Seeker Lucius would consider helping me.” Adhlea dismounted. “Let us walk from here. I do not wish to intimidate people with a Grey Warden _and_ a Seeker atop mighty steeds.”

Varric gave a snort. “ _I_ wouldn’t intimidate, Dahlia?”

Adhlea gave him a thoughtful look. “If you had Bianca out and a persistent scowl on your face as well as armor, yes. As it is, you and Solas share only one thing.”

Varric brows shot up as Adhlea took a deep breath.

“A lack of fashion.”

Varric grinned.

“Solas is way worse off,” he said. “But don’t mock the threads, elf.” He gave her a mock-stern look. “I’ve worn these clothes since I last saw Hawke.”

Adhlea gave a fake look of disgust. “Is that why they smell?” They stared at each other for a moment.

Varric chuckled. “Don’t worry, I actually _like_ bathing after battles.”

Adhlea nodded. “Aye. Perhaps one thing I like about this.” She wiggled her ring. “I can take however many baths I wish and none will say otherwise.”

“Elves don’t bathe?” Cassandra asked, looking –

“Yes, Dalish elves _do_ bathe,” Adhlea sighed, rolling her eyes. “We just can’t do it when we’re busy with moving. Otherwise everyone never moves and all the elves would be dead. Alienage elves take turns bathing.” Adhlea shrugged. “I admit, some of the human ways are easier.”

“Hmm.”

They tied their horses to a post, getting frightened looks from others. Adhlea was less nervous – less nervous after dealing with a House of Repose assassin and meeting the Grand Enchanter.

As they crossed the silent courtyard, all eyes flicking to the group of silent four, an arrow zipped by Adhlea’s face.

She stared at the red fletching. A parchment was wrapped around it.

“Cassandra, please grab that for me.”

Cassandra nodded and yanked the arrow out.

“Keep the arrow intact, please. The letter might be useful.”

Cassandra nodded, giving the arrow to the only person who had a quiver, even if they were bolts and not arrows. Varric smirked as Cassandra slid the letter in her jacket.

Adhlea kept walking, her eyes on the Chantry lady standing on the raised wooden dais – right next to the gallows.

Adhlea swallowed nothing.

 _Reverend Mother Hevara is not to be trifled with,_ Leliana had warned. _Do not tell her about anyone causing the Breach. Just try to make it out of there alive. Do that, and hopefully they’ll stop arguing about the Inquisition. If you need it, a copy of the writ has been made._

Everyone had grimaced after looking at the thick book. Divine Justinia had either made a scribe very angry, or she herself had forced her own old hands to write every character in that book.

Adhlea held her head up high as she approached the silent crowd. Mother Hevara started to talk as Adhlea arrived, her features cold even as she attempted to warm the people.

“Together we mourn the Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart was silenced by treachery!” Her words… also had the opposite effect. “You wonder what will become of her murderer.” Hevara’s eyes sliced into Adhlea’s. “Well, _wonder no more.”_ She gestured to the dark-skinned man next to her, who looked uncomfortable. Adhlea smelled lyrium. Her heart picked up, but she managed to stay there. “Behold! The so-called Herald of Andraste, risen where our beloved Divine fell.” The Mother’s eyes kept on hers. “We say this is a false prophet. Our Maker would send no _elf_ in our hour of need!”

Adhlea had enough. The angry murmurs rose.

“I have said no such claim!” The people quieted. “I have not claimed to come from Andraste,” she repeated, not moving as the Mother stepped to the edge of the dais. “I have – _repeatedly_ – said I am _Dalish._ I have come here in peace, to talk – and this is what you do! There is a _real threat,_ and it needs to be dealt with!”

Cassandra stepped up. “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

Adhlea heard steps, clanking armor.

She drew back, behind Cassandra, as she spotted the Lord Seeker and his templars approaching.

“It is already too late!” Mother Hevara shouted back, pointing with a triumphant smile.

Blackwall moved quietly, sliding half in front. Adhlea picked up Bianca being moved behind her.

_I’m being shielded._

Was she truly that obvious?

“The templars have returned to the Chantry! Your Inquisition will face their might!” Hevara claimed.

 _No._ Adhlea took a deep breath.

Purple smoke made her vanish. She hurried, shoving through people invisibly before getting on to the dais in front of the first templar there. Her form was revealed once more as the Seeker raised a hand –

“Don’t!” Seeker Lucius’ head turned. Dark amusement flashed in his eyes as he lowered his hand and spoke.

“I did not come here to help the Chantry, you foolish woman,” the Lord Seeker barked. Adhlea took a step forward.

“No, you didn’t,” Adhlea said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You desired to make a scene.” _I will not let her get injured for trying to do what she sees as right._ “Does your vows as a Seeker give you a right to hurt a Chantry mother, _Lord Seeker?_ Or are you simply one who strikes without thinking, like a barbarian?”

On a dais, in the capitol of Orlais, in the city where Celene herself undoubtedly languished, was probably _not_ the ideal place for such a huge argument. However, disliking the Chantry and allowing the Lord Seeker to abuse his position as a warrior and possibly strike a _Chantry mother_ would, no doubt, end up in a war or even an Exalted March on the templars. Despite Adhlea’s reasons for fearing templars and not liking them, she wouldn’t wish an Exalted March on _anyone._

The Lord Seeker stared at her for a moment.

“You are a mage, yes?” he smirked. “I can think of one _easy_ way to get rid of you.”

He stepped off the dais.

“When you’re done, inform the templars we’re leaving Val Royeaux to the Chantry,” the man said. “I don’t care if anyone dies here.”

Adhlea’s eyes widened fractionally. Templars were going to _smite them all._ Lord Seeker Lucius intended for this to be a very public message.

“Get down!” She summoned her mana, pouring everything she had into a barrier to form, casting a haphazard barrier spell right as the templars smited them all, ripping at the Fade so hard as she did not have time to pull her staff out; she felt pain start to spark in her hand –

The world exploded into stars.

For eternity, she tried to move, to wake up – something pushed against her lips, forcing breath past them.

“ _Breathe,_ Herald!” A male voice panicked. “Anyone have a lyrium potion?”

She _couldn’t breathe._ What the fuck made him think she could _swallow?_

She forced her muscles to move. Her mana was depleted –

_Breathe._

She found her chest moving, her lungs forcing air out, her mouth opening and –

 _Syven._ Her clever brother.

Dalsih mages didn’t do phylacteries. Deshanna was not a blood mage; yet, she had made – when Adhlea was to leave – make her own kind of phylactery due to Adhlea’s own blood magic episode. Adhlea was _not_ a blood mage, The Incident notwithstanding. Merrill had admitted she, herself, was a blood mage; Adhlea had enquired as to what made a blood mage a blood mage. _You must first become Tranquil,_ Merrill had said with a whisper of dread. _And then you can use the magic of your blood, but even then. There is always a price._

Syven had thought she was dead. Syven had been upset, but he’d _known_ she’d survived due to her phylactery.

She could feel mana as he filled her blood with his own.

When he stopped, she took a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes.

The brown-skinned templar from the dais side leaned over her, genuine worry in his eyes. Adhlea was well aware he straddled her. Her breaths started coming short.

“Please, no,” she gasped out. “Please get off, _please –“_

The templar scrambled up, horror in his eyes.

“I swear I was just trying to help,” he promised. Full sunlight blasted on her face.

_I am alive._

Cassandra blocked the thing that made her feel alive.

“Would you like a lyrium or an elfroot potion?” she asked directly.

“Elfroot,” she said, fighting to keep her breaths even.

Cassandra nodded, kneeling down and sliding a hand under Adhlea’s neck. Adhlea still couldn’t move; Cassandra blocked her view of the courtyard as she made Adhlea drink the potion.

“A lyrium potion would help better,” Cassandra informed her, tartly.

Adhlea stared at her.

“I’m not dead,” she reinforced.

~:~

Syven was actually with Deshanna in the Dales when he felt it. He’d requested another be sent to guard Varaina due to needing to talk with Deshanna. He’d rode to the Waking Sea, hopped the first boat, and was in the clan three weeks after leaving – not like he’d not done it in a _shorter_ time period, and with Adhlea, but the point was he was with Clan Lavellan when he felt like something was wrong.

He’d patted himself down and found it, his elder sister’s vial of blood. Deshanna had stopped her lesson as he’d taken it out, focusing on it –

He felt like he’d fallen from a great height, his lungs screaming –

_No, those aren’t mine._

He called his mana to his fingers, pulling more strength from the Fade.

 _Breathe, you fucking idiot._ His sister wasn’t listening. _Breathe, dammit!_

He could feel something scratching as he strained, trying to force the magic to bend to his will –

Even if he became an abomination –

Deshanna slapped him.

He lost focus, the mana slipping from his grasp. Deshanna covered his hands with her older hands, warm and weathered. She pulled and prodded at his magic before he felt her gently probe at the Fade.

Magic swirled down from a small gap. Syven clutched at it like a dying man.

This time, he was completely focused. This time, he told his sister to _breathe with him._

He inhaled and exhaled. Forcing her muscles to work. Syven inhaled. Exhaled.

Then he let her go.

Her phylactery grew cool as he set it down, his hands shaking.

So were Deshanna’s.

Syven stared at his hands.

“Am I a blood mage?”

“No.” Deshanna shook her head. “Syven, you must not tell anyone of what we did.”

Syven tilted his head.

“What _you_ did, you mean?” he clarified. “Keeper, you’re really powerful with the Fade.”

“I had a good teacher.” Keeper Deshanna patted Syven’s head. “It is a good thing that you had that.”

Syven slid it back into its spot.

“You need to hurry back,” Deshanna told him, abruptly. “She might need some help for whatever she’s doing.”

Syven agreed.


	20. Chapter 20

Gaspard and his group of chevaliers rushed to the incident spot next to the Moon Gate. He’d _told_ Celene she should have people guarding the gate.

Several templars lay dead, with several more soldiers laying dead with a few civilians. The Reverend Mother Hevara was praying as, halfway across the courtyard, a Seeker and a living templar knelt by someone’s side.

He pointed to a dwarf after dismounting from his horse.

“Dwarf.” The dwarf twitched and turned, his eyes widening in recognition.

“Oh, shit,” the dwarf said, looking resigned. “SEEKER!” The dwarf turned and shouted to the Seeker. “The Herald’s husband is here!”

The Seeker moved. Gaspard’s eyes widened as a familiar red head turned to him as she did so. The Seeker picked the Herald – _his wife was the fucking Herald of Andraste!_ – up easily in a bridal carry.

The templar followed behind as the Seeker walked to him.

“Grand Duke,” the Seeker said, stopping a few feet away.

Kerrah looked to him, looking timid.

“You…” Gaspard snorted. “How is it I knew you were involved somehow?”

Kerrah made a face.

“Because I’m apparently a danger zone,” she croaked, not at all sounding like herself.

“With all due respect, Grand Duke, I must get the Herald to a secure room.” Cassandra eyed him. “Unless you have a place?”

“I would rather not have you all face Celene today,” Gaspard admitted in return. “I must oversee several things, but Gavin will show you to a lord I know will not say a word.”

Gaspard gestured to Gavin, then looked to Kerrah. “I will speak with you later.”

His wife gave him a tired smile. “I really look forward to it,” she said, her tone weakly sarcastic.

~:~

Lord Francois de Carvana was a lord of a small area in Verchiel; so small that it might as well be a negligible title. So small, in fact, he only had to go there once or twice a year to collect taxes to pay his once-a-year tithe to Gaspard. He did not get involved in politics, if only because he wasn’t nearly important to have much attention put on him. His own introduction to the Empress had been in the midst of other lords.

Gaspard had only spoken directly to him once concerning his lands. Francois still wasn’t sure _why_ Gaspard had spoken to him. It was literally a ‘my chevaliers require a pathway that will not make a big deal out of them, might I use your town?’ request. Gaspard had already been using his lands, so he’d said it was fine. There was only a small increase.

Still, the lord intended to sleep soon, ignoring the commotion outside as chevaliers galloped past.

Then there was a knock.

Francois opened his door to see on of Gaspard’s chevaliers.

“Grand Duke Gaspard requires your assistance to allow these five into your home,” the chevalier said before mounting his steed. Francois was simply left blinking at the dwarf, Grey Warden, Seeker, templar, and elf standing on his stoop.

He moved aside quickly.

“Thank you,” the Seeker carrying the elf said to him. “Might we use your parlor?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, instead rushing into it.

“Forgive the intrusion?” the templar said, looking uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t have followed us,” the dwarf said. “Oi, Warden. Care to find some alcohol?”

“ _I_ didn’t smite her,” the templar said, a scowl forming on his face.

“You might as well have,” the Seeker growled, a livid glare on her face.

“Seeker!” the elf called out. “Can you come here for a second?”

The Seeker gave the templar the ugliest look imaginable on a woman’s face (Francois really did not desire to have that look directed on him) before retreating in the parlor.

“Might I use this alcohol? Everyone but the Herald needs it right now,” the Grey Warden said with a frown on his face.

Francois nodded in permission.

The Seeker stomped out, a glare on her face as she stared at the templar.

“The Herald offers her _thanks_ for saving her life,” the Seeker spat, “and asks if you would be willing to make sure Lord Seeker Lucius does not – and I am repeating her – go power hungry and force the Chantry to make another Exalted March.”

The templar blinked. “She –“

“I do not approve,” the Seeker said, scowling. “But since she is listening, I will not tell you what I truly wish to say to you.”

The templar nodded. “If he does intend to do something such as that, would the Inquisition welcome any templars leaving him?”

“YES!” the Herald’s voice floated out.

The Seeker’s glare deepened.

Francois was privately shocked that her face wasn’t permanently frozen in such a dark look.

The templar smiled and left the manor.

The Seeker’s glare vanished, a scowl that seemed to be her natural resting face settling on there.

“I need a drink.”

“I have some elfroot potions?” Francois said, making everyone look at him. “Ah, yes – where are my manners. I am Lord Francois de Carvana.”

“Thank you for being hospitable, Lord Carvana,” the Seeker said, rubbing her face with her glove. “I am Cassandra Pentaghast. This is Warden Blackwall –“ she motioned toward the Grey Warden, “and storyteller Varric Tethras. The Herald of Andraste is laying on your couch –“

“NOT THE HERALD OF ANDRASTE!” the elf in the parlor called out.

“- also known as the Masked Duchess.”

“Who the fuck calls me _that?”_

Francois choked at her language. And at the shock.

“Practically everyone, Duchess,” he called back.

“If I could move quicker, I would show you what I thought of that!” she called out.

“Don’t insult your host!” Seeker Pentaghast called back. She nodded to the lord. “Forgive me. Duchess Kerrah has managed to survive the brunt of a Holy Smite.”

“She’s a _mage?”_ Francois blurted.

“Even if she wasn’t, Lord, the templars – all but that one that was with us – attempted to murder everyone near the Moon Gate gathered around the dais.” The Warden folded his arms. “Now, I’m certain at least half of ‘em were just following orders, but them attacking Chantry officials is a course tantamount to treason against everyone – Orlais, Ferelden, Nevarra – all of them. That would be bad, but they also attacked the proclaimed _Herald of Andraste._ Everyone saw it.”

Master Tethras grimaced and took a swig from the bottle he held. Francois internally winced.

“Yeah, everyone saw the Herald protect them with a barrier. Everyone _also_ saw the elf get thrown halfway across the fucking courtyard and slam into the ground. Dahlia should’ve died from the impact of the smite.” Master Tethras shrugged. “Hell, now they might think she’s Andraste herself.”

“Was it a direct hit from one of them?” One was bad, yes, but –

“Three,” Seeker Pentaghast said, her voice low. “Three hit her right after she cast a pretty big barrier; barrier broke, but it saved many civilians.”

“Think the Chantry will chalk it up to blood magic?” Warden Blackwall turned to her with questioning eyes as he spoke.

Cassandra pinched her nose.

“The writ is clear,” she said, heaving a sigh. “The Herald is an unplanned side-effect, but the Chantry will proclaim she’s the Herald _now._ Elf mage or not. I don’t think they’d even consider blood magic, so no.”

A creak.

“They should.” They all turned. The Herald sat down – or collapsed, onto the parlor doorjamb. “Because it _was_ blood magic.”

Seeker Pentaghast frowned. “You are a normal mage. You could not move, let alone give yourself a wound!”

“I…” The Herald blinked, shaking her head. “I had an accident when I was younger,” she admitted. “I was in a difficult situation where I was given magebane – the potion that forces a Tranquil-state without being Tranquil – and – and things happened. I begged my gods to save me. I could not move until they were leaving and I used my blood in a creature summoning.” The Herald’s voice was detached. “I summoned a pack of wolves that tore one apart, and then the other I killed with flame and fury. After I was helped back to my clan, I was told by my Keeper that I should not do that. Dalish elves do not ordinarily keep phylacteries of any mage but blood mages; I gave my blood to my brother, and he helped me live.”

Francois could see the confusion on the three non-mages’ faces.

“Creature summoning is not summoning something such as a demon,” he said, all eyes swiveling back to him. “It is summoning nearby animals.” He bowed to the Herald. “I will keep my silence, Lady Herald. Nobody shall know from me.”

She did not look at him.


	21. Chapter 21

Varric didn’t think Cassandra and Blackwall entirely understood; Lord Francois, who had said he’d get some rooms made up and vanished, certainly did. The enormity of what she’d just told a pack of strangers had hit him as she’d spoken.

Elves in the city and Dalish elves had the most problems with human templars due to the ancient enmity between them.

“How long ago?”

Her magenta eyes met his. “Nearly ten years ago. It’s not bad if I don’t see things that remind me of it. Reliving it hurts.”

“At least they’re dead, right?”

She laughed hollowly.

“There were three.” She curled her right hand into a shaking fist. “Three templars.”

_A pack of wolves tore one apart, and the other I killed in flame and fury._

One could be alive still.

“Kerrah, if you ever need my assistance to kill him,” Varric said, entirely serious, forgoing her nickname, “I will gladly do so.”

“Every time I see one,” she whispered, looking away from him, “I think it’s the last one. And I’m terrified that when I do see the last one, I won’t be able to kill him.”

Varric smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“If I am with you and you see him,” he swore, “you just point him out to me and Bianca here’ll do the rest.”

Gratitude shone in her eyes.

~:~

Gaspard found himself at the younger lord’s house as dusk settled. A servant opened the manor’s door, the scent of supper filling his nose.

The servant led him to the dining room. As he entered, he heard the Seeker saying something.

“- don’t you _dare,_ Varric!”

“You kill all my fun, Seeker!”

Gaspard arched an eyebrow as he stared at the odd group.

“What happened?” he demanded as he sat down at the only free spot. “And what happened to your arm? Were you the spy at the Conclave?” He directed his questions to Kerrah.

Kerrah moved her spoon in her soup.

“First, the Conclave,” she said after a moment, dropping her spoon. “I asked Leliana to say I was a spy. I was invited due to me being in Kirkwall last fall.”

“And _why_ were you in Kirkwall?”

“I was asked to take a Chantry sister there,” Kerrah said, looking utterly drained. “And my arm…” She raised her slightly glowing arm. “This thing can close rifts in the Veil, Gaspard. It happened… mm, right before I was thrown into the Fade? I’m not sure. The Fade thing, though – that was true. I guess I fell out of the Fade.” She shrugged. “Lastly, what happened today – we were coming to see the Chantry sisters of Val Royeaux. I thought they’d sentence me to death.” A giggle slipped from her lips. “Instead, the templars decided to kill everyone to witness whatever the fuck Lord Seeker Lucius decided _not_ to do. So I took a Holy Smite and nearly died.” Kerrah looked up at him. “And by morning Revered Mother Hevana will announce me as a holy person and proclaim me the official Herald of Andraste.” The elf snorted. “Imagine that. An elf as _Herald of Andraste.”_

Gaspard took a deep breath.

“Grand Duchess.” Lord Carvana appeared, looking faintly quizzical, holding a note. “A note from the First Enchanter of Montsimmard.”

_How did Vivienne -?_

“Thank you, Lord Carvana,” Kerrah smiled at the lord. “I can’t move that well. Might it be put in the room I am to sleep in?” He nodded and vanished, Kerrah looking to the Seeker. “Can you hand me the note you got from the arrow?”

Cassandra nodded, sliding a hand beneath her breastplate and handed it to her. Kerrah read it while Gaspard took a bite of the soup, deeming it safe to eat; for a moment the only sound was the slurping of soup.

“Oh. Interesting. I am hoping to meet this person – do me a favor and collect the handkerchiefs?” She held the message to Blackwall, who nodded. She turned to the Seeker. “Seeing as my identity is out there now – thanks, Varric, by the way – can you arrange something to take us to wherever Vivienne asks me to be?”

He watched the Seeker nod.

“And Varric…” The dwarf looked up at her. “Please, don’t piss off any nobles.”

Varric offered her a grin.

“No promises, Dahlia.”

She smiled warmly at them before it turned grim as she looked at Gaspard.

“I am the reason for the big fucking hole in the sky,” she announced out of nowhere. “It’s my job to fix it. I cannot do that staying in a chateau.”

Gaspard snorted.

“No,” he agreed. “But the land is yours. You do know I officially titled you Grand Duchess of the Frostbacks? You answer both to King Alistair and Empress Celene if any lords in the range decide to complain.”

His wife took a steady breath.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Divine Justinia informed me of that particular fact not a week before her death.”

Gaspard sighed before standing.

“I must draw Celene’s attention away from you,” he said. “And possibly do damage control.”

She nodded. “I apologize, Gaspard, for the issues you face on my behalf.”

Gaspard offered her a smirk. “Let me say that my dearest Empress has her hands full.”

~:~

Sera tilted her head at the man standing there.

“The Herald is injured,” the man explained, “but she said she finds your note interesting and would like to meet you.”

Sera pouted. “Aw, what? I was hopin’ to impress her Herald-ness by showin’ her the mass of breeches.”

“Yeah, well. I’m what you got.” The man frowned. “You said breeches, right? The Inquisition could always use breeches.”

Sera grinned. “Look, I’ll meet her Herald-self. Just don’t herald me!”

The man looked unamused. Sera was gonna steal _his_ breeches for not liking her joke.

She followed him to a manor house with a pompous-looking carriage in front of it. An elf with a glowing hand and wearing filthy-looking enchanter’s garb stood, leaning on it, talking with a woman with an ever-present scowl and a dwarf.

Their conversation died as Sera followed the grumpy Warden, the elf holding out her right hand to shake.

“Kerrah,” the woman said. Her other hand was glowing.

“Does the Inquisition thingy need breeches?” Sera lifted the sack of breeches. “I stole everyone’s breeches.”

“Everyone always needs breeches,” the Herald told her with a serious look. “Unless you were planning on soaking them in honey and leaving them outside, we could use someone like you.”

Sera grinned. “Hey, that could work on enemies!” she pointed at the Herald. “Now, we might just get along, you’nd’I.”

“I’m… Not certain,” the Herald said with a light chuckle. “Do you know where Haven is?”

Sera nodded.

“If you want to help, meet us there.” The Herald put a hand to her elfy markings. “I’ve got other things to complete before we return there.”

Sera nodded. “I’ll meetcha there, your Herald-ness. See if I like the place ‘fore I come to a decision.”

Decision made, Sera twirled around and jogged off.


	22. Chapter 22

“First Enchanter,” one of Bastien’s servants said, interrupting her moon-gazing. “The Herald of Andraste has arrived – as have the Duchess de Chalons, a Seeker, a dwarf, and a Warden.”

Vivienne arched a brow. So the Herald was in the company of those ones? Interesting. The Duchess had strange company; however, given that the Herald was purported to be an elf, they were most likely from the same clan.

“Send in the marquis,” she ordered silkily. “I want to see if the Herald or Duchess will stop him. Ah, and bring that box I had delivered from Verchiel.”

The servant bowed, vanishing as conversation stopped.

Hearing the marquis start blustering soon after, Vivienne took a deep breath and stood, ready to play her part.

She appeared at the top, waving her hand. This had taken a _lot_ of practice, to freeze him simply by doing such a thing.

She turned to address the Herald; the world tilted as Vivienne’s eyes met the glowing arm, then proceeded to stare into a familiar masked face.

The Herald of Andraste was the _Duchess de Chalons._ Or, as she was more popularly called, the Masked Duchess.

Vivienne felt a smirk curling onto her lips and banished it.

~:~

“Cease your bluster at once, Marquis. You insult two people in one,” Vivienne said, descending as elegantly as ever. Adhlea let out a breath. “What should I do with him, Herald?”

Knowing the Game, he would be disowned. Adhlea swallowed.

“Perhaps he should learn to still his tongue before speaking,” she said, stepping forward. The Marquis looked terrified; whether or not it was because of the mask, Adhlea cared not. “Perhaps his parents should send him my husband’s way. The Duke of Chevaliers will treat him like any other recruit.”

Vivienne smirked. “You are as interesting as ever, darling.”

She moved her hand, the ice shattering in chunks. The marquis fled the salon.

“Come, dear,” Vivienne beckoned. Adhlea stepped up and removed her mask. She felt Vivienne’s searching gaze on her face, searching for any imperfections. “Darling, you know you have white in your hair, correct?”

Adhlea’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry?” No, she had not!

“Ah, it is no matter. Presumably, it is from your walk in the Fade.”

_Just what I wanted. Some other connection to Justinia’s death._

“I asked you here, Herald, so that I may become an Inquisition member,” the First Enchanter said, showing them to a lounge on a veranda. Both sat facing each other. “As you know, I am well-versed in the Game. I can help you; I know the ins and outs of the Court. I even have the ear of the Empress, should I want it.” Vivienne gave her an unexpected smirk. “To be perfectly honest, dear – if I’d known who you were I would have come forward much sooner.”

“Forgive me if I’m a little suspicious,” Adhlea replied, clasping her hands together. “Why do _you_ want to help close the Breach?”

“The Breach threatens all of us, dear,” Vivienne said, smiling under her Orlesian hennin. “If I do not help, I will look like I stood by and did nothing; I would rather not do so.”

_Of course. Ulterior motive._

“Very well.” Adhlea closed her eyes. “I’ll send a message to Leliana. She’ll have whatever you might need or want.”

Vivienne smiled. “That would be lovely, dear.” A servant approached. “Ah, yes.” A box with an intricate sigil was handed over. The servant bowed before leaving; Vivienne handed the box to Adhlea with a smile on her face. “I had this made for you, as a gift; I know how proud you are of your heritage, and I _do_ hope you find no offense given.”

Adhlea opened the box.

“I wasn’t sure if they would fit, but the creator assured me that they will fit…”

Adhlea just stared at the items before snapping the box closed.

“While I thank you for the gift, First Enchanter –“

“Duchess.” Adhlea glanced at Vivienne, not knowing what to feel. Vivienne did not smirk or smile. Instead, her brown eyes met hers with odd seriousness. “I did not have them made to insult you. You are a Duchess; an elven one at that. Showing these,” She indicated the delicate-looking metal elven ear covers she’d had made for Adhlea, “will send a message at any salon or ball. You’re quite terrible at the Game, my dear, but it is well-known I am an ally of yours. Of course, it ruined my reputation quite a bit; yet, I am still favored by the Empress. That alone should tell you that the Empress herself does not know what to make of you. Wear them with _pride.”_

Adhlea nodded her head as she stood and re-masked herself.

“I will take your advice into consideration, Lady Vivienne.”

She left the salon unbalanced, before all and re-masked. Her carriage awaited her and her companions; as they pulled away, Adhlea stared at the box.

“A gift?” Varric eyed her. “Something expensive?”

Adhlea swallowed.

“Vivienne,” Adhlea said, forcing her tone to remain even, “gave me something extremely expensive and dangerous.” She closed her eyes. “It is something that will make what I am obvious.”

“What, like fake ears?” Varric snickered.

Adhlea opened the box and gave him, and him alone, a peek.

She did feel a bit of a kinship with him more than she did with the other two. Mythal above, she was suddenly grasping how loud her position was when she ought to have realized it a _long_ time ago.

“Holy shit,” Varric said, blanching. “That’s… Woah.”

“Yeah.” She shut the box before the others could glimpse it.


	23. Chapter 23

Solas heard a knock on his door. Shutting his book of writing, he stood and opened the door.

The Herald stood there, looking a bit pale.

“Hey, Solas,” she greeted, her voice quiet. “Am I bothering you?”

Solas shook his head, opening the door and inviting her in. Summer was well on its way; though the trees did not show it, he could feel it in the air.

“Is something the matter?” he asked her, politely.

She shook her head. “I, um.” She laughed, looking a little self-conscious as she turned around, presumably to hide. “Well, it’s a Dalish thing, really. I know you’re not Dalish – probably don’t like the Dalish – but you’re the only elf I know that...” She sighed, then whirled to him, her face a little red as she set her face. “You saved my life. I cannot repay that with just a little trust. In my clan, I have only let my family and Keeper touch my hair; I wanted to ask if you would braid it.”

Solas blinked. “Braiding hair requires trust?”

She shook her head. “It’s a calming technique I found I liked. My brother did it, whenever he was around; I know it is strange, but right now I was wondering if you’d tell me stories from the Fade. And. Maybe.” She shrugged.

Solas frowned in confusion for a moment, then mentally shook his head.

“Certainly.” He sat on the ground, against his bed. She sat in front of him, producing a comb. He took it and began combing it. “I can tell you many things of the Fade. What subject in particular?”

She hummed. “Have you ever seen anything about the Qun?”

The comb snagged on a knot. She didn’t complain.

“I have seen few things there,” he said, neutrally. “Few… _good_ things.” He did not think she wanted to hear about the violent ways of the Qunari.

“Well, what’s one?”

He could not, at the moment, think of one specific memory. “I cannot think of one,” he admitted. “It would take some time to think. In the meantime, tell me of your clan. You are Dalish, are you not?”

He set the comb aside, then ran his fingers through her hair.

“Proudly,” she said, quietly.

“And here you are, lauded by the people as the Chosen of Andraste. A chosen hero to save us all.” He did not intend to allow his feelings to come out sarcastic, but it came out that way. “How does _that_ feel?”

~:~

Adhlea had a feeling that no matter what she answered, he was _probably_ going to take it the wrong way. Hoping to keep the weight of the room light, she answered in jest.

“Sounds _dashing._ Should I ride on a horse or request a dragon be brought before me?”

He did not laugh as she felt his fingers skillfully braid her hair.

“Every war has its heroes,” he murmured. “I’m just wondering what kind you’ll be.”

“The kind that hopefully lives,” she informed him dryly. “That’s looking less and less likely, however.”

“Were you injured in Val Royeaux?”

_Oh, well, you know. Apparently I caught three holy smites and nearly died if not for blood magic…_

“Not badly,” Adhlea replied. She drew her brows together. “Hey, Solas… How did you come to be here? In the Inquisition, I mean,” she added. She felt his hands falter for a moment.

“I was in the hills above Haven,” he said, resuming his task, “when I felt a shockwave through the world. Knowing what I did when I saw the hole in the world, I came down and offered my expertise when I heard there was a survivor. The Seeker, Seeker Pentaghast – she was, and has been, accommodating. Then, however, I was threatened with death if I did not help save you.”

~:~

Solas could remember that moment very clearly. The rip in the Fade had screamed as a humanoid form had come out; with a mighty shove, the then-unknown elf had been thrown out of the Fade. Cassandra had barked at him, with her sword aimed at his throat, to heal the elf or die.

Solas had done what he could, being in the cell with her – watching as she nearly died several times.

“She threatened to kill me,” Solas said again, “as I tried to save your life. I requested lyrium potions when it seemed the worst of the dangers had passed. I was given them away from you, then I was called to go help with the Breach. Whatever happened there… I am shocked you survived it.”

“Same,” the redheaded elf murmured.

“How are you feeling?” He changed the subject, not wanting to know quite yet what had happened. If she remembered it. “Truly. How do you truly feel about all this?”

“I… am angry.” Her honest words gave him slight pause. “I am angry at the thought people are once more blaming mages. I am angry that I must play a distasteful Game. I would much rather fight with weapons than words.”

“I feel sympathy for the mages,” he said, quietly.

“You plan on leaving, if we win this, right?”

He kept his mouth shut as he finished her braid.

“Done,” he said after tying the braid, yet made no move to get up as she shifted, turning around and facing him with those earnest magenta eyes.

“Solas, you know you can trust me, right?”

He allowed himself to nod.

“Then trust me when I say I will not let anyone harm you,” she promised. “Should you desire to leave, I will make them let you go.”

“How would you stop them, _da’len?”_ He slipped again.

“However I had to, _hahren.”_

She stood; Solas stood after her. She reached his chin, so he did have to look down at her, allowing his expression to naturally soften.

“Thank you,” he said to her.


	24. The Iron Bull

Krem waited at the door to the Chantry, not really wanting to go in. Skinner and Dalish were waiting for him to escort him back to the Chargers (Bull disliked having his Chargers killed off and never coming back… Or betraying him, but Bull knew Krem wouldn’t!); Krem saw an elf approaching the Chantry.

“Excuse me!”

He met magenta eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. They lit up in recognition.

“Oh, hi!” she smiled at him. “Is there something you needed?”

“I was looking for the Herald,” he said, pretending he didn’t know she _was_ the Herald. “There’s a group out on the Storm Coast that’s willing to fight with the Inquisition, but the leader wants to meet with the Herald to make the arrangements.” Iron Bull was getting annoyed at the lack of actual resistance from the bandits. And the _rain._ The Chargers as a whole were sick of the Maker-forsaken _rain._

He saw exasperation flicker over her face.

“Right.” She nodded. “I’ll just let the Herald know.”

He nodded back to her.

Job done, he walked out of Haven. He’d see her soon.

~:~

The Iron Bull laughed as a fireball exploded in his general vicinity two weeks after Krem had gone to the Chantry. The Inquisition had arrived! Ice and fire barrages flew through the air.

 _Two_ saarebas. He finished his last victim, turning to see a party consisting of three elves, a human, and a dwarf engaging seven others. The human warrior taunted her enemies; a well-placed fireball shattered a shield. He sat down to enjoy the show.

“Varric! To my left!”

Two arrows exploded as a guy attempted to kill the human.

“Sera, my right!”

Two more arrows exploded.

“Okay, that’s it!” The female mage whirled and pointed at the female, her adversaries all dead. “I am _never_ taking you two on the same trip with me!”

“Yeah, you will,” the dwarf snorted. “I just wouldn’t put Sera in the same group as Solas.”

“Will _any of you help Solas and I?”_

“I’m done, Seeker.” The male mage turned and froze two of the idiots ganging up on the Seeker.

“Sorry, Ca – _Seeker!”_

“It’s fine,” the Seeker grunted as she finished her opponent off. “Just, please. If you’re needing a warrior with Sera, please take _anyone_ else besides me.”

The female mage nodded; just as the warrior turned to loot the dead body, the mage used her left hand to give the Seeker a rude gesture.

The other female elf giggled maniacally.

The female mage slid down the embankment, striding confidently into the camp.

“Hello,” she said, moving directly up to him.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the Iron Bull said with a sharp grin. “The Herald of Andraste, an elf.”

Her smile became edged, her eyes cooling.

“Yes. And you’re an Adaar, are you not?”

The Iron Bull shrugged. “I’m Qunari.” He bent forward as the other members of her little group came in behind her. “Heard you were able to shake off three templar Holy Smites within a day.”

Her smile remained sharp even as the dwarf tensed and the human’s hand went to her sword hilt.

The two elves behind her were staring at the back of her head.

“Oh, that’s true,” she said, her eyes brightening. “I heard you desired to speak with me. Why?”

“Well, now that I know your face behind the mask, I gotta ask a question.” His Chargers were watching with half-raised cups – he could feel their stares. “Why’d ya let those three in your carriage?”

The elf’s mask slipped as confusion flashed in her face.

“Who three?” she asked… Before recognition flashed in her eyes. “Oh. I don’t know. I just did.” She shrugged. “I did what I would’ve done even if I weren’t what I was.”

“An elf or a –“

“I am both,” the elf cut in, her eyes once more turning cold. “Do you have any pertinent questions, or am I wasting my time here?”

The Iron Bull grinned. “I like you,” he announced with a laugh. “These are the Chargers.” He gestured behind him. “I’ll introduce each of them later. Anyway – I am Qunari. Ben-Hassreth, actually.”

 _Explain, please,_ her blank expression screamed.

“Spy,” he elaborated. “I’m a Qunari spy. I spy for them, I give you Ben-Hassreth intel.”

“That’s… quite obvious, telling me you are a spy,” she said, looking suspicious.

The Iron Bull grinned. “Part of the job is knowing _when_ to lie and when to tell the truth.”

She seemed to concede the point.

“How will we know when you’re being honest?” the Seeker asked, looking suspicious.

“We won’t,” the elf said, her eyes never leaving his. “We’ll just have to trust each other.”

Oh, yeah. He liked this elf.

“All right, Chargers!” He stood, turning to his Chargers. “Pack up, let’s go!”

They rushed to do his bidding; he stopped Dalish with a hand.

“Dalish. Any weird magic shit going on?”

Dalish scowled at him, but knew better. “No. Other than _them.”_ She flicked her gaze to the duo. “She’s… Only a little more dangerous, but I would not fuck around the other elf with her. He’s _very_ powerful. She doesn’t seem to sense it.”

The Iron Bull took her suggestion seriously.

“Shall we go back together?” he offered, grinning sharply.

“We’ll finally be out of this rain,” the dwarf grumbled.

“You guys can,” the Herald said. “Cassandra and I have something else we need to do here.”

“I’m joining, if that’s acceptable,” Iron Bull offered immediately.

“I’ll stay!” the other female elf cheered.

“I’ll make certain Master Tethras does not get lost,” the last elf mage said.

“Can I stay?” Dalish asked.

“No,” Iron Bull replied. “You need new arrows.”


	25. Chapter 25

“The Herald has made a lot of allies,” Cullen said, seeing the list of allies. “Even so, we should probably decide if we’re to offer sanctuary to the apostates.”

“We’ve already done so with the Witchwood apostates,” Leliana pointed out. “Even now.” She gestured out the side window of the room. Magic flashed as the mages trained outside Haven. “More arrive every day. Who is to say that the Grand Enchanter wouldn’t keep her word?”

“I have never known Grand Enchanter Fiona to be an honest person.” Lady Trevelyan’s words brought their attention to her. “She lies, and easily too. I would not be surprised to learn that she actually _wasn’t_ a Grey Warden, even though I know she was.” The woman retained her position, leaning against a bookcase. “In this case, however, I think she _might_ be telling the truth.” Lady Trevelyan snorted.

“The templars might help,” Cullen offered.

“Tell that to the Herald,” Leliana said, dryly. “Honestly, Cullen. It’s like you don’t believe she got smited.”

“Smote,” Cullen corrected. He noticed her glare and relented. “I know. We’ve also got to deal with a possible visit of the king.”

Leliana shot him another glare. “Yes, Cullen, I’m well aware. The King of Ferelden is coming to _mediate_ because that lord just _had_ to complain _._ ” She inhaled. “I’ll see what the Herald wishes to do with the mages or the templars. Do _not_ be surprised if she chooses the mages.”

“Leliana!” One of her agents appeared. “The Herald has arrived.”

“Just in time,” Leliana said. “Please get her here,” she added.

Not five minutes later, a tired-looking Herald stepped in, her clumsy braid coming loose. “I’m beginning to think I should get a dosage of smites again,” she said in a light tone. “Being injured or near death seems to be the only real reason I get to sleep these days.”

“Apologies, Herald,” Cullen said, straightening. Leliana pretended to be unconcerned. “However, we must discuss if you’ll be attending to the mages at Redcliffe or not.”

“I will,” the Herald replied. “She didn’t specify how long they’d wait. I suppose I can leave in two days.”

“Ah, yes. The First Enchanter has arrived, as well,” Leliana added, rather darkly.

“How the fuck did you put up with her?” Lady Trevelyan put into words what Leliana could not.

The Herald smirked. “Let’s just say I can’t stay around her in large doses, or I will literally strangle her with zero compunctions.” Her smirk faded. “She was also one of my only allies at Halamshiral. I would’ve been eaten alive if she wasn’t my friend.” Her smirk returned full-force, and _vicious._ “If my brother was here, I’d just threaten her with staying alone with him. She’d back off in a hurry. My brother loves to piss people off.”

“Ah.” Cullen swallowed. “Right. Anyway. Are you leaving in two days?”

She nodded. “I’ll let Solas and… I suppose I’ll ask Sera and the Iron Bull to join me, so I’ll let them know.”

She turned around.

“She needs to eat more,” Cullen said, frowning.

“Are _you_ going to tell her that?” Leliana asked him dryly.

~:~

“Dorian.”

Dorian, dragged from the depths of sleep, opened his eyes reluctantly. Felix sat in front of him, eyes wide.

“She’s coming to Redcliffe.” Dorian wondered if Felix was ill again. Felix shoved a cup into the other’s hands after he sat up. Just inhaling the Maker-blessed coffee from Tevinter made him more awake. “Dorian, the _Herald of Andraste_ is coming to Redcliffe.”

“Joy,” Dorian murmured. “She’s fucked. We’re all fucked.”

Felix shook his head. “She’s less than a day away,” Felix told him. “She’s able to close the rifts. Come on, Dorian.”

Dorian heaved a sigh.

“Fuck. _Fine.”_ He took a deep drink of his coffee. “The fucking Herald is arriving. Let’s all pray to the Maker that she’s interested in women.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Not every woman will throw themselves at you,” he murmured.

Dorian jerked his head. “You should go. You wouldn’t want your father to get the wrong idea.”

Felix scowled, but left the room.

Dorian Pavus sighed and stood.

He had about a day to make preparations.

Maker, if Alexius found out… He was worse than screwed.

~:~

Syven leaped off his horse as he made it gallop, fully intending on leaping on his sister and giving her a piece of his mind. His foot got caught, however, so he ended up slamming his head on, like, two rocks and a tree stump before he got out a ‘woah’. He managed to slide his foot out of the saddle, then he waved at his sister and her group.

“ _Asa’ma’lin!”_

 _“Isa’ma’lin!”_ His sister ran at him and slammed into him. He hugged her hard.

“You nearly died again,” he said into her shoulder.

She laughed. “Syven, with you watching over me, I couldn’t die.” She removed herself from his grasp. “Thank you,” she added, smiling up at him.

He brought her forehead to his. Their _vallaslin_ tingled, a warmth that only happened when shared blood and magic came into contact.

“Who is _that_?”

He moved his head.

“Hey, sis.” He moved his head back into position. “Why the fuck are you traveling with flat-ears and a Qunari?”

She laughed a little. “Oh, Falon. I feel safer with the extra muscle.”

“But you don’t need it.” He frowned. “You’re like a fucking Qunari yourself.”

With that, Adhlea shoved herself away from him. “Let’s go!” she said, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“Wait, _asa’ma’lin,_ you still _do_ have that Qun-like strength, right?” He jogged after her, actually wanting to know.

“Do you want to find out?” she asked, tossing a smile over her face.

“Yes.” Syven tilted his head. “Even if you have to elbow me. I would be reassured.”

She elbowed him in the solar plexus. Hard. It wasn’t quite as hard as it probably would’ve been had she used her right hand (he’d noticed the green glowing thing in her palm earlier), but it still left him winded.

“Shit!” He felt himself steadied by a large hand. “Thanks, Qun guy. What’s your name, by the way?”

“The Iron Bull,” the Qunari said with a smirk. “And you?”

“Galifalon. Call me Falon, I dislike ‘Galifalon’.”

“Sure thing, _Falon,”_ the Qunari smirked. Syven smirked back before glancing at the apostate he’d met before. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“Solas.”

Syven snickered. “ _Pride?”_ he chortled. “You must have _quite_ the ego.”

Something flashed in the blue eyes of the apostate. “Perhaps. I _am_ an expert in the Fade.”

“Uh-huh.” He turned his attention to the only other woman. “And you, blondie?”

“Sera,” Sera replied, staring at him. “Are you an ‘elfy elf’? You _look_ like an elfy elf.”

“Yep, I’m an elfy elf,” Syven nodded. “So’s she.”

“She’s the Herald, though,” Sera said with a pout.

“Don’t worry, I don’t really do magic,” he said. “Unless it’s to freeze something.” He gave her a cheeky smirk.


	26. Dorian

Adhlea spotted the Grand Enchanter, walking to a tavern with her head down.

“Grand Enchanter!”

Fiona jerked to look at her, confusion marring her face.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona apologized. “Do I know you?”

Adhlea laughed, a little bewildered. “You told me you and your mages were waiting here about a month ago,” she said, frowning.

“No, I did not,” Fiona replied. “I –“ Fiona jerked. “Sorry, I must go.”

Adhlea watched her go, feeling completely stumped.

“Are you _certain_ it was –“ began her brother, only for Adhlea to whirl and accidentally hit him as she attempted to shush him.

“Sorry, Falon. But you can feel it, can’t you?” She looked at him and Solas beseechingly. The very air seemed to be _wrong._ Just…

Solas’ eyes widened.

“Fools,” he breathed. “Whomever used such magic… It is far more dangerous than blood magic.”

Syven narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Adhlea admitted. “What makes the air wrong, Solas?”

Both mages looked to the third. Solas glanced at both of them.

“Time.” He inhaled. “Someone used time magic. It will not end well – it will reset itself if it becomes too unstable.”

“Who would be so damned stupid to use _time magic?”_ Syven sounded disgusted. “Theoretically, it could destroy the world.”

“Indeed.” Adhlea blinked as Solas agreed with her brother. He didn’t seem the type to agree with Syven on _anything._ “I’ve never experienced time magic personally. I’d imagine Adhlea would be the most affected; she alone met Fiona –“

“I did not. I had Blackwall, Varric, and Cassandra with me,” Adhlea protested.

“They’re not… Elvhen,” her brother said, staring at Solas with a frown. “Anyway. This is a trap. Obviously.”

“But a trap for whom?” Adhlea wondered, turning once more to the tavern. “If it’s for us, we must spring it.”

“I was really afraid you’d say that.” Syven checked his weapons. “Sis, trade ya. Staff for bow.”

Adhlea nodded, taking her staff off and taking Syven’s bow, checking the string.

“Think you can manage it if you have to?” Syven checked with her.

Adhlea smiled sweetly at him.

“Just because I’m also a duchess does _not_ mean I’m helpless, _Galifalon.”_

“Meh. Knives, magic, and arrows are your specialty, sis. Not _subtlety._ ” Syven patted her head.

She scowled at him. He… _wasn’t wrong…_ Syven was still an ass.

“Wait.” She froze. “Where is Varaina?”

“Oh, Enaste’s looking after her.”

“Oh. Good.” Adhlea liked Enaste. Enaste was very shy, but she was also very deadly. “Shall we go?”

“Yep!” Syven gave her a big grin before flipping her jacket hood up, then his own.

Even with the different clothes, it’d be hard to tell who was the Herald. Adhlea grabbed Syven’s right-hand glove, flipped the glove around and slid it on her glowing hand. After a silent weapons check, the siblings started up the walkway without another word, their footsteps purposefully loud.

“That’s fuckin’ creepy,” Sera announced loudly.

~:~

Gereon Alexius glanced as the door opened.

Two cloaked beings were standing in the doorway, hoods pulled up to conceal their identity.

“Let me guess,” he said, glancing at their hands and scowling as their left hands were concealed by gloves, “one of you is the _Herald of Andraste.”_

One nodded.

“Indeed. Your mage, Fiona, asked for our assistance.”

As they were far away, Alexius couldn’t see their faces.

“Reveal your faces,” he demanded. He’d bet that the one with the staff was the woman.

“We want assurances this isn’t a trap,” a slightly deeper voice said.

Gereon flashed a smile.

“I hadn’t expected you for another day,” he admitted casually.

The one with the staff shrugged.

The one with the bow flipped their hood back before the other one did.

Alexius laughed. “I can see why that duke married _you,_ elf girl.”

Her face went as blank as marble.

“I’ve come to bargain,” she said without preamble, striding in. The door shut behind the two as they strode in. “The Inquisition would like the mages on our side.”

“Straight to the point.” The door opened once more, admitting his son. Alexius took a drink. “Tell me, what makes you think the mages desire to be yours?”

“You used –“

Alexius straightened as Felix stumbled against the Herald, looking ill.

“I am sorry,” Felix gasped at the woman.

“I –“ she looked worried. Alexius stood, helping his son to his feet.

“I await you at Redcliffe Castle, Herald,” Alexius snapped out. “I will be waiting for your proposal in a week’s time.”

He took his son out, ignoring for the moment the Qunari and two elves outside it.

~:~

Adhlea opened the note the man had managed to slide in her jacket.

_Meet in the Chantry. Please hurry._

Well, fuck.

She tossed her brother’s glove back at him as she darted out of the tavern, passing by Solas, Sera, and the Iron Bull. The words were hastily scrawled; if someone was in trouble –

She heard the Iron Bull’s pounded footsteps, but she was opening the Chantry doors before any of them caught up to them.

“Holy shit!” she threw an immolation circle down, diving past it as she forced it to ignite and burn the demon.

The Iron Bull charged in, axe swinging as Adhlea threw a barrier down, trying to keep herself alive as a demon threw liquid fire at her. He cackled. Adhlea turned her attention to the one man she didn’t know – he was a fellow fire mage.

She didn’t get to admire his technique as the rift in the Chantry spat out another group of demons. Adhlea raised up her hand, connecting it with the Fade Rift.

This Rift was stubborn. It did not want to yield.

Adhlea jerked her hand back, leaping to the side.

Not all their time had been spent hunting demons and such. In the Storm Coast – along with getting the Blades of Hessarian – they’d gathered some blood lotus plants. With a slightly creepy grin, Adhlea tossed a bottle of Antivan Fire in the middle of the demons.

“OH YEAH!” The Iron Bull shouted.

Satisfied that the demons were once again occupied, Adhlea turned to the Rift, lifting her hand once more. The others hadn’t been so resistant; Adhlea had pretty much just wiggled her fingers and shut them. She closed her eyes to concentrate, imagining the Veil between this world and the next. In her mind, it was like a door that would not stay completely closed as she reached for the key.

Fire from the outside world seared her face with heat. Seconds passed.

Abruptly, the Rift snapped closed as though it were angry.

Adhlea blinked open her eyes, and it was like time had slowed; the minute the line connecting her hand and the Fade Rift vanished, time restarted.

Adhlea was suddenly disoriented by the sounds, shaking her head as dizziness assaulted her.

“Are you all right?” Solas appeared before her, concern on his face.

“I thought time had slowed,” she admitted.

His face was grim. “It did.”

“Fucking _weird,”_ her brother snapped, looking _angry_ and unsettled.

“Elfy shite,” Sera said, her voice weak.

“What is it you’re talking about?” The mage who’d been fighting first appeared behind Solas.

Adhlea shook her head. “Nothing of consequence.” She moved around Solas, holding out her hand. “Kerrah Lavellan of Clan Lavellan.”

“Dorian Pavus,” the mage said, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it. “Formerly of Tevinter.”

Adhlea saw Syven stiffening, but paid him no mind and withdrew her hand.

“Well, _Dorian Pavus, formerly of Tevinter,”_ she said, casting him a flirtatious grin that was entirely false. “That was _exceptional_ fire magic. Can I ask you for some pointers?”

He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course,” he bowed. “I am at your service.”

~:~

It was nighttime; Dorian watched, feeling worn out as he hung out in the Chantry with them. They had long since decided to set out for Ferelden Keep in the morning; in fact, the Qunari and the Herald were the only ones other than Dorian himself that weren’t asleep.

The Herald finally sat up from where she was laying on a pew. Probably sacrilegious, to sleep in a Chantry, but Dorian really couldn’t find it in him to care at that moment.

She moved silently. Dorian plastered a fake smile on his face as she walked to the pew in front of him. She perched on her knees on the pew before him, legs dangling out of view.

“I do not,” she said, staring at him, “like humans in a sexual way.”

Her voice was very blunt.

“I was flirting with you to see your eyes.” She tilted her head. “My brother prefers the company of men, Sera prefers non-elf women, and… I’m not sure about the Iron Bull. So, judgement is nil from the group.”

Dorian raised a brow.

“You’re very observant,” he said, putting his arms behind his head. “But the world is fucked, like I told Felix.”

“Mm. Probably,” agreed the elf. “I mean, I’ve been trying to change things, but it’s only been _two_ years since I became a duchess, so –“

“ _You’re the Masked Duchess?”_ Dorian certainly _had_ heard of her. Two years ago, before he’d left his home with Alexius, he’d heard his father talking to his mother.

_A Dalish elf, it’s rumored. The Masked Duchess is definitely an elf. Disgraceful._

“I… I already have titles, I don’t need another one,” she groaned, slamming her palm to her face. “Okay, so here’s a big question: If we go to Redcliffe Castle, we’re _definitely_ walking into a trap, right?”

“Yes,” nodded Dorian. “Unless your people are excellent shots, you’re all going to die. Probably.” Dorian considered. “ _We_ are,” he corrected. “I suppose I’m lumping my lot with yours.”

The Herald smiled at him.

“I’m glad,” she said, before turning and laying back on the pew. Dorian decided he might as well sleep, too.


	27. Chapter 27

“What, exactly, are Venatori?” The Tevinter sighed as he walked with Kerrah and Galifalon. Solas listened, keeping an ear on them.

“Imagine every classical magister who has been called evil,” The Tevinter said, his tone surprisingly light, “and then forget that. The Venatori are worse. They’re the ones who do every blood ritual under the sun and moon, sacrificing elves and the other lower people for shits and giggles. And power.”

“Is Alexius part of these Venatori?”

Dorian nodded. “He doesn’t do the blood magic, but he _has,_ in a way I’m not sure I understand, proven time magic is real. Since the Breach, he’s been able to bend time quite easily – though to my knowledge he’s not reversed it.”

“Well, to me, he has,” Kerrah stated, pressing her hand to her _vallaslin._ “About a month ago, I was in Val Royeaux and Fiona came to me to bring me here. Now, I’m here and she’s got no idea that I _did_ meet her.”

“Hmm. Well, shit,” the Tevinter oh-so-eloquently said. “Since time travel with magic is a forbidden art to do anything but theorize on, I’m not quite sure what will happen. You seem well-versed on magic, have you been to a Circle?”

“You could say that,” Kerrah said, looking over at the Tevinter with a grimace on her face. “I’ve been taught by the First Enchanter of Montsimmard. When she has the time.”

“Ooh, the Ice Enchantress,” Dorian said with a smirk. “Tevinter might be as far from Orlais as it is, but we’re not _entirely_ removed from politics here.”

“I assumed that, given that you know of a nickname not even _I_ realized I had been given,” Kerrah grumbled.

“What nickname?” Galifalon’s eyes were sharp as he entered the conversation.

“The _Masked Duchess,_ apparently.” Kerrah made a motion towards her face. “I chose to wear a literal mask in public, as I really didn’t want snide remarks on my _vallaslin._ Gaspard didn’t agree or disagree, so I did it.” She shrugged. “I’m not ashamed of it, just… I wasn’t really ready.”

Dorian snorted. “Well, darling, you’re gorgeous. No need to hide that pretty face anymore.”

“Oh, _Dorian,_ you make my heart flutter!” Kerrah snickered right after she said it. Solas gathered there was quite a joke there.

“Well, if you weren’t, I’d say you were drop-dead ugly and I don’t want to be seen in public with you, dear.” Dorian looked at Syven.

“You know, Dorian, I’m beginning to think you have a crush on my sister here,” Galifalon said, throwing an arm around the Tevene mage. “Should I threaten your balls or is my message clear?”

“Dear, it simply depends on what you plan on _doing_ to my –“

“Okay!” Kerrah coughed. “As much as this flirting session is entertaining, the castle is up ahead and I’d honestly rather not get murdered unawares. Dorian, please flirt with my brother later.”

“Wait, sis –“

“Falon, this time I’m going to tell you to _shut up_ and actually expect you to _listen.”_ Galifalon snapped his mouth shut, for once looking serious. “This,” she gestured to the castle and their group, “is a trap. An _obvious_ trap. So, do we all go through the front door or should the two rogues hide?”

“Let’s hide!” Sera suggested, looking very much like she wanted to run.

“Hiding would be good,” Galifalon agreed. “That way he won’t know to look for us and we can kill anyone who gets in our way to get to _you.”_

“I also shouldn’t be seen with you,” Dorian said, frowning. “At least not immediately. Mostly for the shock value, but if Alexius sees me with you he’ll _know_ that _you_ know of the Venatori. He’s probably seen the Iron Bull – hard to miss him, actually – but he doesn’t tend to pay attention to elves so he might think whichever one you don’t bring was just passing through. As for Falon… Damn.”

“No, I can make it work.” Galifalon took his bow and quiver off. “The rumors say that the Herald is a mage; however, he’s only ever seen me with a staff. Looks like everything depends on Sera.” Quickly the duo traded weapons.

“Will I be furthest from any weird elfy elf stuff?” Sera asked hopefully.

“Yes, Sera. You’ll be furthest from weird elfy elf stuff,” Kerrah said, rather dryly. “Solas?”

Solas nodded. “It is a good plan,” he agreed.

“I can’t wait to see you in action, Boss,” the Qunari agreed with a sharp smile.

That matter settled, they started off for the last stretch, Dorian splitting away and Sera going to hide.

They walked up the pathway, mages lining it in silence.

When the doors opened, Solas was mildly surprised to see Tevene decorations on the former castle of the arl.

“Hello,” a servant, a human one, said, approaching the group. “How might I serve you?”

“I’m the Herald of Andraste,” Kerrah said, her entire demeanor changing in the blink of an eye. “I have come for a discussion with the lord of this castle. Is he available?”

“I – he said you alone may see him when he comes,” the servant said, nervously.

“I am _hardly_ going to enter a stranger’s castle without guards,” Kerrah said, sounding offended. “If you need to run along and say that to him, be my guest.”

Solas desired, at that very moment, to see her face. To see whatever made the human look utterly terrified – no, not on hers. Galifalon was smirking. And the Iron Bull was _leering._

Wow. Utterly terrifying. Solas arched an eyebrow at the human.

“I’ll be right back!” the human shrieked, leaving. As soon as he was out of eyesight, Kerrah sighed.

“Falon. Are you smirking like you want to eat him? We are _not_ cannibals,” she snapped out without turning.

“Aw, _asa’ma’lin._ Don’t be mean,” Galifalon said, with an amused pout.

Kerrah just shook her head as the human came back.

“If you’ll follow me,” he said, gesturing forward.

Kerrah folded her hands behind her back and began walking.

~:~

The Boss was interesting. She didn’t, disappointingly, resort to violence; but her simple presence, as straight-backed and serious as her face was, seemed to draw attention like honey to flies.

“I was hoping we could make an arrangement,” she said, coolly. “About the mages you have under you. See, here in Thedas it is highly frowned upon to hold hostage a bunch of mages.”

“Ah, but dear…” She twitched, though it was curious as to why. Hadn’t the new Tevene called her that? “I am no member of this country. I am here on Fiona’s invitation; she herself gave her and her mages to me. Rest assured she’s in good hands.”

“I will not,” the boss said. “I –“

“For the love of the Maker!” A sick human appeared. “Father, she knows of the Venatori.”

Alexius’ entire demeanor changed. “What? How?!”

“I told her.” The new Tevinter strolled out, swaggering to a stop next to her.

Alexius’ face turned dark and furious. “The Elder One is furious with you,” he said to the Herald. The Herald scowled.

“Who is this ‘Elder One’?” she demanded. Alexius let out a broken laugh.

“Someone even I cannot beat.” He brought out an amulet. “He’ll be pissed off, but surely getting rid of you would grant me pardon.”

He threw it. The Tevene grabbed onto the woman, trying to move –

A flash of green light. Nothing. The Tevene and the Boss were gone.

“Dammit,” Bull grumbled. “I barely got to work for –“

Another bright flash of light. The Herald and the Tevene were in entirely different clothes; the Herald had her bow strung, aiming it at the bastard.

He was wise enough to hold his hands up, his face pale.

“How?” he rasped. “How are you alive?”

“You know,” the Herald said, her voice trembling. “That’s _exactly_ what you said before I killed you a year from now.”


	28. Time Travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of me is cringing at parts of this chapter. That's all I can say... Hope you KINDA like the chapter. Not the death.
> 
> Not a WORD about the magic. Making stuff up as I go is what's happening.

Adhlea staggered forward, throwing up as her senses told her she’d just taken a nasty fall. Or jumped off a waterfall without breathing properly. Or running without being a good runner.

“Kerrah, are you all right?”

Adhlea held her hand up, breathing heavily before being sick again.

“Creators,” she whispered after she was done wiping her face off with a handful of the water they were standing in. Not clean water but she was lucky she’d not thrown up in _that_. “I thought we were gonna die.” She made a face. “That was some nasty magic shit.”

“Time magic, if I had to guess,” Dorian suggested.

“Gee, _really?”_ Kerrah made her way forward, sloshing through the water and opening the cell door they were in with a creak. “Do you know where we are, generally?”

“Generally, I’d say Alexius’ castle. Which is actually the arl’s former castle.” Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Looks terrible.” She heard him sloshing behind her, so she started up the steps. “I know this place well, though we might want to see if there’s anything valuable here he’s left.”

“Wouldn’t that cause a time paradox?” Magical time travel theories were just that – theories. But… _Theoretically,_ taking something from the future might cause something else to unbalance.

“Eh. If it’s nothing too big I’d say go for it, darling.”

She snorted at the nickname as they crept forward.

“What?”

“ _Darling_ and _dear._ Alexius and Vivienne and you all call me that.” Adhlea took her bow – her brother’s bow – and prepped it in case for any enemies. She felt naked without a staff, but she’d deal. “Difference is, I actually _like_ your way of saying it. I know, it’s weird, but.” She lifted her bow as she picked up footsteps. “Just so you know, someone’s coming.”

He nodded, pulling his staff out. She peeked around the corner, then at her bow.

 _If I don’t remember everything, I’m screwed._ She jumped out, rolled, rose her bow and loosed her arrow.

It was deflected easily. Adhlea jumped up, pulling another arrow out, fitting it in her bow and slipping down the hallway to climb on a crate. The man – _templar_ – rushed her, priming a Holy Smite.

She fired, changing direction in the last second. He bellowed in the hallway as he dropped his shield.

Dorian stepped out, fireballs primed –

“Watch out!” someone yelled in fear for the templar.

The templar looked up.

Dorian used a barrage of fireballs to finish him off.

Adhlea aimed, breathed, shifted, fired.

This time, her arrow hit the mark. She drew another out of her quiver as she jumped from her vantage point.

“These are templars,” she said lowly. “Have you ever met the ‘Elder One’?” Dorian shook his head.

“Never. I’m guessing since you came to Redcliffe that the templars got corrupted.”

“To be perfectly honest, I’d rather the templars get corrupted than the mages get imprisoned. Very few of my people are in the templar order.” She did not miss the look he gave her. “I don’t really… I’m not against humans, but I’m very much on the side of my people.”

“I…” Dorian seemed at a loss.

“I don’t like Tevinter magisters because they enslave and kill elves.” She took a deep breath. “My mother was a Tevene slave before I was born, and she had two children born into slavery. It’s a long story, but suffice it to say I’m pretty much only fond of humans I like.” She shrugged as she continued. “If it makes you feel better, some of these guys will be alive in the past. I think.”

“ _I heard something down that way!”_

“Hurry! This leads to another dungeon, but we can’t leave too many bodies,” Dorian hissed, shoving a door open. Adhlea darted in before running down the steps. She heard a rattling breath, turned –

An image straight out of her nightmares greeted her. Fiona was in the cell, looking feverish.

Considering massive red lyrium was currently growing from her body, Adhlea wasn’t too surprised. Her empty stomach roiled as the former Grand Enchanter turned to her.

“Herald?” Hope was so clear in her voice. “No… You’re dead. You must be the Maker.”

“No,” Adhlea responded quietly. “I’m not the Maker. Fiona, is there any –“

Fiona closed her eyes. “This is my penance,” she groaned. “There is no way for me but death.”

“You probably should put her out of her misery,” Dorian said, quietly. “She’ll be alive in our future.” He hesitated, obviously wanting to say something else.

“What?” Adhlea demanded.

“Well, obviously, she _did_ join with an evil magister…”

Adhlea felt like ice-cold water was doused on her.

“They’re going to make her Tranquil?”

Dorian shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Adhlea came close to the bars. She held her breath as best as she could. “Fiona, do you want it to stop?”

Fiona opened her eyes. “I want the pain to end,” she replied. “He said you’d come, before they took him away. He said… He said _abelas, asa’ma’lin.”_

Her heart jumped.

“He tried to keep them away from me. But in the end…”

“Did – did he say anything else?”

Unfocused eyes focused on hers.

“He said something about… About you being something called a _falassan._ He said this was his _halam’shivanas._ It was a lot of elvhen. I’m trying to remember.” She squeezed her eyes shut, sweat breaking out. “He also said, to tell you if I wanted peace. To say _ma ghilana mir din’an.”_

Adhlea’s people’s language had fallen far, and Adhlea herself had spoken only Common in the last few years. Still, hearing it made her only take a second to piece it together.

“ _Ir abelas,_ Fiona.” She raised her bow. Fiona only smiled before Adhlea shut her eyes and loosed the nocked arrow.

She turned away, unable to look.

“What did your brother tell her to tell you?” Dorian’s voice was quiet as they walked further.

“The idiot called me… Essentially, slow. A slow arrow. And then the fucking idiot said this was his _sweet sacrifice of duty,_ and told Fiona to tell _me_ to guide her into death when she was tired.” She swallowed the lump. “I –“

“Oooh,” a familiar voice said. “That’s not possible. You’re dead. Unless it’s more elfy shite!”

Dorian let out a small groan.

“I don’t think it’s, as you say, _elfy shite,”_ he said, delicately. “More human shite.”

“Fuck, so it’s demon shat, right?”

“Yes, let’s go with that,” Adhlea forced. “Sera, I’m a terrible lockpick –“

“I have this one, darling,” winked Dorian. “I’ll be sure to teach you a year ago.”

She punched Dorian in the shoulder. He stumbled in shock, looking _very_ pained.

“Shite!” Sera laughed. “You about knocked him on his ass!”

Adhlea flushed. Okay, seriously – Syven was stronger than her. He had to be. She wasn’t _that_ strong. One had to have _some_ muscles to move a bowstring.

“I’m not _that_ strong,” she said, flatly.

Dorian was wincing as he picked the lock on the cell. As it clicked open, the lockpick broke.

He swore in Tevene.

“I got the next ones,” Sera said, bouncing. “Though I don’t like that other elf. He’s friends with Coryphenuts.”

 _I’m regretting letting her out._ “Right, let’s just go and try –“

“What ‘bout the other elf?”

“She can’t,” Dorian said quickly, putting a hand on Adhlea’s shoulder. “Her body’s encased in lyrium.”

“Then let’s go already! I need to find a real bathroom. And maybe food.”

“We don’t have time to dawdle too much,” Adhlea said, walking forward quickly. “Where are the other dungeons?”

“Through the doors hidden over there.” Sera gestured. “They’re blocked by weird shite.”

Boxes. Adhlea picked one up before letting it drop.

“Then let’s _move_ the weird shite,” she snapped at the blonde elf.

“Grouchy! Aright.”

Together, the two made short work of it; Adhlea almost cried when she realized there was _other_ shit on the other side.

“Move, please.” Dorian conjured a fireball.

Adhlea moved.

The door splintered, as did the boxes.

“Who the fuck is there?” Adhlea darted through the burning wreckage.

“It’s just me, Bull.”

“ _Kerrah?”_

Solas’ shocked voice was also heard in that block.

“That’s my name,” she said, stepping in their view. “Dorian, could you get the Iron Bull out? Sera –“

“He’s friends with Coryphetus!” Sera stubbornly folded her arms across her chest.

“I am _not_ his friend,” Solas said, sharply. His eyes flicked to Adhlea’s. “Hurry, though, Kerrah. The Elder One is coming.”

“Oh, great. Does this ‘Elder One’ have –“

“Corypheus,” the Iron Bull rumbled, Dorian finally unlocking his cell with a small amount of cursing. “And Solas had something to do with the Breach.”

Solas’ nostrils flared. “I did _not,”_ he snapped. “The _Elder One_ has an Elvhen foci – he was using me as a means to an end. I refused to help him utilize its power, _even_ if I knew how to.” His eyes met Adhlea’s, who hesitated. “ _Please,_ lethallan.”

Adhlea flinched at hearing that, especially since what Fiona said made her think –

“Sera, Dorian – one of you, get him out. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.” She turned to the Iron Bull. “And my brother?”

The Iron Bull closed his eye. “He’s… no longer among us.”

“He lives, but not in a way that you would like,” Solas said, stepping out of the cell. “However, I had an idea, if you would permit me to speak.”

Sera scowled. “Your first idea was to break out. _That_ didn’t go well.”

No. Their eyes all burned with lyrium; Solas seemed the least affected.

“What?” Adhlea demanded of him.

“Alexius doesn’t think you survived, let alone think you traveled in time as you clearly have.” Solas nodded at her clothing. “Perhaps if you changed clothes and tried to look hunted, he’ll not think of the possibility of you being from the past.”

Adhlea closed her eyes and pressed a hand on her _vallaslin._

“Time ticks away,” Sera muttered, agitatedly.

“All right,” Adhlea said after a moment. “However, I think we might need to search for Alexius’ notes on how Dorian and I get back to our time. There has to be a way.”

“Easy.” Dorian moved his shoulders around. “Find the fucking amulet he used, use it and get back to our time. But Solas does have a point. If Alexius thinks you’re from the past, he’ll not hesitate to give you to this Corypheus.”

“Where would we find clothes?” Adhlea asked abruptly, looking to Dorian.

“Guards’ quarters. It’s close enough to the throne room and Alexius’ quarters that we can find whatever we need there.”

Adhlea nodded, turning to the final door, the door that should lead outside. Pushing it open, Adhlea stalked through it, not seeing if her companions were following. Four more dungeons that were suspiciously filled with lyrium later and Adhlea pushed open one more door.

Sickly green light filtered down. She’d seen it earlier, but didn’t understand.

Until now. She couldn’t help but stare at the sky in abject horror.

“It kept expanding,” Solas murmured. Adhlea turned – a flash of white caught her eyes.

She stared.

“Is that –“

“Your brother was to be executed by Corypheus,” Solas said, his voice solemn. “From what the guards said, as soon as Corypheus came close he used, in conjunction, ice magic and a ward to keep it that way. Corypheus broke out of it. Your brother… Did not.”

_He lives, but not in a way you would like._

“Fastest way is through the courtyard. Hopefully it will be a bit cool outside,” Dorian said a few feet away.

Sera snickered.

Adhlea clenched her jaw and stalked down the hallway.

~:~

They maneuvered around the blocks of ice silently, being extremely cautious. Their own noises caused everyone to pause. The Iron Bull was the only one to stride without worrying.

Adhlea saw the biggest cluster of ice.

 _You fucking idiot._ She moved, seeing nothing even though she could feel the centerpoint of magic. She placed her _vallaslin_ on the ice, closing her eyes as the chill sank into her head.

Then she removed her forehead, turning and meeting Solas’ eyes. They were full of guilt – or remorse, she didn’t know and _did not care._ This wasn’t her time.

_Brother, I will kill Alexius and this Corypheus. I swear it._

“We’re almost to the door,” Dorian called as loudly as he dared.

Adhlea brushed past Solas.

“Come on,” she said, roughly.


	29. Chapter 29

Dorian opened the door to the guards’ chambers, opening his mouth.

So it _wasn’t_ empty, then.

“Wrong door?” he offered before the captive snapped his neck with her feet and an arrow sprouted from the guard’s head.

The Herald slid into the room, bending down to pick up the knife as the woman looked resigned.

“Is this a new form of torture? Some illusion of Corypheus’, perhaps?”

“I doubt anyone _but_ me would do _this,_ Leliana. You’re dangerous, and nobody I know would cross you or free you while you still live.”

So saying, the Herald used the tip of the knife to rather _inelegantly_ unlock the cuffs, just jamming it every which way.

“That may be easy this time,” Dorian said, dryly, “but not all locks will be as pathetic as that.”

Leliana was let loose. She glared at Dorian.

“Tevinter,” she said, crisply.

“Leliana, was it?” he offered her a charming grin. She was not amused.

“We should move from here. I think the guard was –“

Kerrah held up her hand.

“Let me give it to you. Alexius cannot know I’m from a year ago until it’s too late. So we need to change, in the unlikely event he still remembers what I looked like a year ago.” She gestured to Dorian. “And we need to know about any specific points that caused _that.”_

Leliana nodded. “Right. Tevinter, there’s some clothes for men in the adjoining room. I’ll speak with the Herald. We need to be gone as soon as we change.”

Dorian nodded, walking to the next room. He found the clothes and a knapsack – in case they _really_ were stuck here, he didn’t want to be entirely fucked – and a stash of weapons and potions. Dorian changed as fast as he could.

He re-entered the room again, seeing Adhlea shoving her feet into boots, her mouth set and anger clear.

“Fuck,” the woman said. “I knew he had a plan, but – I never knew –“

“You _knew_ he might kill her?”

Adhlea shoved her boot on fully. “Yes. I didn’t fucking _care.”_ Adhlea’s eyes seemed to brighten. “She _burned_ Halamshiral to _prove a point._ So no, Leliana. _I didn’t fucking care.”_

“Who’re we talking about now?” Dorian tossed the knapsack to the elf. She caught it – quick reflexes – and shoved her clothes in it before tossing it back. The Tevinter mage slid it on his back, wincing as it brushed the forming bruise. _Really,_ what did she do? Spend a thousand days carrying bricks around?

“My husband and Celene.” Adhlea scowled. “I didn’t think he’d be so bold as to kill Celene, though I shouldn’t be surprised and now _I apparently have to stop it.”_

“All we know is that someone of the de Chalons family killed Celene and Gaspard got the throne,” Leliana explained.

“And as I said not a few minutes ago, Florianne could’ve killed Celene.” Adhlea shook her head. “We can’t talk about that now.”

“Maybe, but,” and Dorian wasn’t sure whether or not to mention this, “he _could_ have married someone else, no?”

Leliana and the elf exchanged amused glances.

“Dorian, how long would it take you, if you weren’t into dick, to court and marry someone?”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up, but he answered. “About three months… I don’t understand –“

“In Orlais, in order to _properly_ marry someone, it’s a year-long affair,” Leliana interrupted. “And an appropriate period of mourning is six months. Having announced his perusal of a new wife and married her not a month later, Gaspard de Chalons was the exception for this one instance. He would need her to raise an heir. While it is known that he cannot, er, _copulate_ due to an extremely unfortunate incident in his youth, nobody would question _her_ honor,” here Leliana dipped her head to Adhlea “nor question a said heir’s legitimacy. To the world, as long as he looked even vaguely like either…” Leliana shook her head. “No, he would not have taken another wife. To my knowledge, he’d sought out a child in his previous marriage, but Duchess Calienne died.”

“It’s complicated,” Adhlea summed up. “And not important right now. We’ve got to go.” Those eyes, which had dimmed, now flared to life.

“Your brother might be able to help. We could go find him,” Dorian suggested.

“Oh, he tried.” Adhlea pointed to the courtyard. “Sadly, he’s in no condition to help anymore.”

Dorian winced as he connected the dots. “Forgive me,” he asked, lowly. “I did not mean to speak so callously earlier.” It was probably why she’d stormed off.

She shook her head and stood.

“Come,” she said, finally. “Let’s get this and get back to our time.”


	30. Alistair

The group encountered loads of templars and guards. Adhlea wondered where they all had come from; they miraculously managed to _not_ die thanks to Dorian’s foresight. Her quiver was nearly empty by the time they reached the throne room.

Adhlea didn’t know how, but she felt him. Him; magic simmering like a Rift _next_ to a Rift.

“There’s a Rift in the next room,” she said, warning him. “It feels like the one in the Chantry.”

The mark on her hand sparked. Adhlea pushed the pain that it skittered up her spine.

“Let’s take care of it, then.”

Adhlea took the lead, slamming the doors open. She was pretty sure she didn’t look like she’d come from a year previous; yet as a pale, death-white Alexius looked up at her, she knew he knew.

“How?” he rasped. “How are you alive?”

He went to stand. Leliana’s arrow slammed next to his face.

“You missed,” he croaked.

“Leliana never misses.” Adhlea lifted her hands as the Rift sparked, her hand as usual connecting with it. Magic flared; the Rift did not resist, surprisingly. Well, not so much; Adhlea honestly doubted that there was much of the Veil between the worlds left. “Where is the fucking medallion, Alexius?”

The magister looked tired and defeated and _dead._

“Right here.” He threw it at their feet. “It’s useless anyway.”

Thunder crackled outside.

“Ah, he arrives.” Alexius’ mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. “Enjoy your last minutes, elf. As will I.”

He closed his eyes.

Adhlea never took her eyes off of him, handing the medallion to Dorian.

“Corypheus arrives,” Leliana said sharply.

“I’m not generally one to kill in retaliation,” Adhlea said, her voice low as she ascended the steps. “But there _is_ one thing I want vengeance from you for.” Alexius opened his eyes wearily. “My _brother.”_

“He was not my choice to kill,” Alexius replied with a faint sneer. “I would’ve killed that useless bitch Fiona. He kept saying you were alive and injured Corypheus.”

Adhlea had her knife on his throat.

“Boss.”

Adhlea turned her head, giving Bull the darkest glare she could muster.

“Corypheus is coming,” Leliana said, her voice stern. “We can buy you as many moments as we can.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” Adhlea said, stepping back from Alexius.

Alexius lunged forward. Adhlea shoved him back down, feeling a faint sting in her side as she glanced to Alexius to shove him away.

“You do not need to,” Solas said. Adhlea turned fully to them – they were already on the outside of the doors, templars advancing forward.

“I’ve got it!” Dorian shouted triumphantly as the doors began to shut. Lightning arched outside, briefly illuminating a figure Adhlea knew was this _Corypheus._ “Stand still!” Dorian brought her to him roughly. She thought she heard Leliana’s scream. She moved –

“You _move,_ and we’re _here!”_ Dorian shouted.

The doors opened. Adhlea took Dorian’s distraction to take out her bow and fire an arrow at his face.

It hit his forehead, and his eyes glared at her as she felt the same sick feeling she had last time. The arrow had done _nothing._

She took out her last arrow and nocked it as Dorian grasped her arm tightly; she squeezed her eyes shut as Corypheus flew at her, a snarl escaping his mouth –

Silence. She opened her eyes. Her arrow was nocked, pointed squarely at Alexius’ face. Alexius, who looked alive and well and _completely stunned that they were still alive._

“How?” he rasped. “How are you still alive?”

“You know,” she said, voice trembling, deciding to fuck with Alexius a little bit, “that’s _exactly_ what you said before I killed you a year from now.”

She still had an image imprinted on the back of her eyelids. All of them glimpsed in the hallway – Sera being _stepped on,_ Leliana brutally stabbed, Solas dead by fuck knows, there’d been so much _blood_ covering him, and Iron Bull being simply blasted aside by that _fucking orb_ Corypheus hadn’t thought to use on them.

And most of all…

_Her brother, eternally living as a gigantic piece of ice._

She felt magic surge through her. She let the arrow go, jerking it to the side and watching it impale the wall behind Alexius’ face, fire flickering on it. She wanted her staff.

Alexius opened his mouth.

“I swear to the Creators _and to a Maker I do not believe in I will fucking kill you if you talk,”_ Adhlea snarled, baring her teeth at him in anger.

He had the _gall_ to look amused.

“I –“

The hall’s doors opened. Alexius paled; Adhlea tensed and whirled, snarl fading yet a remnant still there as she readied a throwing dagger.

She fumbled with it, barely keeping hold of it.

“Hey, Worship-ness!” Sera bounced in, looking happy. “King Alistair of Ferelden is here, said he was on his way back from a meeting in Val Royeaux when he heard you were here.” A beat of silence. “Why are you looking at me so weird?”

Adhlea had a hard time breathing.

The king was precisely what Dinlaselan Doshiel Aleriel, formerly of Sabrae, had told Adhlea he was three summers ago – right before her impending marriage. Doshiel had re-chosen her name after leaving the Grey Wardens ( _fuck all of ‘em,_ the Warden had spat, _‘cept Alistair. He’s hot. I love him._ She was drunk. Doshiel was always drunk) as a big ‘fuck you’ to all of them. Her new clan had raised eyebrows to her new name, _the one who is defiant, refuses_ , and _grey wanderer,_ but it wasn’t like they cared. Aleriel wasn’t too strict like, say, Boranehn (which most of the clans hated), or Hawen.

Aleriel still did trade and shit with Lavellan. Similar to Sabrae, but Aleriel knew to keep their distance (unlike Sabrae, which was why their clan was always getting into trouble at the Arlathvhen…).

Anyway. Doshiel had described Alistair from his mabari to that weird hairstyle that, oddly enough, looked like Cullen’s.

 _(I doubt you’ll ever meet him,_ Doshiel had said, _and I’m still in contact with him anyway – but shhh._ She’d made a point of shushing Syven, the person she was talking to in a corner, from telling anyone. Adhlea had been trying not to listen in. _But if you ever meet him, tell him I wish I said yes._ She then took a drink. _Actually, don’t. That’d just make it harder to lie to him in letters._ She’d looked so damn lonely then.)

It wasn’t entirely the king that made it hard to breathe. She’d just fucking _time traveled_ and there her companions were. All alive and well and _Syven was there._

Her brother was the one giving her the most scrutinizing look as the king stomped his way in.

“K-king Alistair,” she greeted, cursing how her skills as a duchess were failing her. “I –“

The king stopped her by raising a hand. His face turned quizzical.

“Uh, Herald, you _do_ realize you have a dagger in your side, right?”

“That doesn’t matter, Majesty.” No, she really hadn’t. “Because we’re all royally _fucked.”_ She turned to Alexius. _“Why_ did you side with that ugly fucker?”

Alexius looked exhausted, no longer amused.

“To save my son,” Alexius admitted pitifully. “To save my son from dying, Your Grace. I wanted to erase time and stop him from turning into a darkspawn.”

Felix looked away as they all looked to him in shock – save Dorian. Adhlea gritted her teeth.

“So you’d let the world die under his thumb than search for some _other_ answer? That’s _extraordinarily_ stupid!”

“You’ve never lost someone, have you?”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Adhlea grabbed his armor and hauled him up before stepping onto his damned throne and slamming him against the wall.

Her body was exhausted from all the emotional shit from being tossed into the future, finding out what _might_ have caused it, dealing with the fact her brother _died_ – she knew that adrenaline was all that was working.

“You,” she said, with effort, controlling her temper by the barest thread, “had my fucking brother _killed,_ Alexius, _dear.”_ She _spat_ the endearment out. “King Alistair!”

She didn’t move from her spot.

“Yes?” Alistair asked from behind her.

“If it pleases you, I would like to be the one to administer justice on this _man.”_ She spat the word out. “Felix was not responsible for his actions; nor was Fiona. She should not be harmed, either.”

“I can allow you to judge this man,” Alistair said, “and I can allow his son to leave, but Fiona must be turned Tran –“

“With all do respect, your Majesty,” Dorian piped up, “I suggest you allowing the Herald to, er, put a figurative leash on the former Grand Enchanter. The Inquisition _is_ taking responsibility for apostates, after all.”

There was silence.

“How about we discuss it _after_ we get to my castle?” Alistair suggested, sounding perky. “Care to let him down, Herald?”

“Bull. Help me down.” She sneered into Alexius’ face. “I don’t want this _trash_ to fall on me.”

“ _You got it,_ Boss.”

He sounded like he was close to howling with laughter as he grasped Adhlea’s waist and, apparently mindful of the knife in her side, gently set her down.

Adhlea couldn’t stand the sight of him. She swallowed and turned to Felix.

“Forgive me. I did not mean for it to sound like I thought your death trivial, Felix.”

Felix offered her a sad smile. “ _I’m_ sorry he went to such lengths.”

“Bind him,” Alistair ordered. “Would you like a lyrium potion, Herald?”

 _“No,”_ she said, snapping. His eyebrows shot up. Adhlea pinched her brow. “Forgive me, Majesty. It has literally been the longest day of my life. Solas, um, would you care to help me a little?”

Solas, looking mildly confused, nodded.

~:~

They walked out into daylight. Kerrah took the knife out while walking.

“Here.” Solas shoved a potion at her. “You didn’t need my _specific –“_

“Did you have _any-fucking-thing_ to do with the Breach?”

Her words were abrupt. She didn’t look at him.

Solas pressed his lips together before lying.

“I had nothing to do with the Breach.”

“Okay. Well. It’s a little odd how future-you knew the orb was an elvhen foci.” Her voice was shaking, her hand gripping the potion bottle tightly. “I’ll ask you once more, Solas – _did you have anything to do with the Breach?”_

 _How the –_ perhaps his future self had told her the foci was elvhen. But why? Did Corypheus imply such a thing? His blood ran cold. _Did Corypheus -?_

“No, da’len.” He shook his head as she turned to him, hoping that Corypheus hadn’t said a damn word. “I did not have anything to do with the Breach.”

Her magenta eyes stared at him with poignant grief, and he had no idea why; he was about to ask when she closed her eyes, apparently to compose herself.

“What happened, in the future?” He wanted to _delicately_ probe, but –

She opened her eyes and stared at him with blank eyes.

“You all died,” she said, her voice blank. No emotion escaped. “You all died, and – and I will _never_ forget seeing your bodies laying on that damn floor.”

With that said, she moved away from him.


	31. The Warden

It took two days to reach the castle of Alistair; they used a little-known pass to shave about a month off their journey. Iron Bull would _never_ forget the awe he’d felt as the Herald had _snapped,_ having the unique vantage point to see, if not hear, whatever face she made.

(He’d shifted when she’d started to step on that throne.)

There’d been a beat before her face had turned _wrathful._ If the Qunari had gods, you’d be a fool not to pray to them. If _he_ was ever under that wrathful gaze, he figured he’d be fucked.

He’d fought to keep his laughter under control when he realized she needed his help – he, if nobody else, could see the trembling in her legs.

Oh, yeah. He wasn’t disappointed _at all._

He kept his eyes on the woman, making sure she wasn’t going to flip out on them as they traversed the land.

Denerim was a welcome sight, if only because it meant an actual bed. Galifalon had said something to the king, only for the king to laugh loudly. The elven man had dropped back to the Herald, who kept her head forward and only chuckled once.

Galifalon had continued to needle at her, his eyes sharp; the Herald had spurred her horse forward.

Something had happened, that much he’d guessed from her look _alone_ that she’d given Alexius.

Speaking of, Alexius had been given a horse and a firm guard. There were conversations scattered around, but Iron Bull recognized that they didn’t dare approach him. He got it. He was a Qun.

Entering Denerim was a whole other experience. People seemed to genuinely like the king. It was weird. Nobody liked the Empress much…

It took a while to get to the palace as the Herald was pulled up front and announced; he could imagine the grimace as she waved to the dozens of children and adults. From their wide eyes, he could imagine not a lot of Dalish elves were in Denerim.

He got some wide-eyed looks, himself.

He was a Qunari, though; he was used to it.

~:~

Adhlea ascended the steps in her filthy, blood-soaked clothes next to the pristine-looking Alistair, feeling out of place.

People bowed and greeted Alistair, who warmly welcomed them – respect was given to Adhlea, given that she strode in next to Alistair.

Alistair turned to her as they strode forward. “I’ll have clothes awaiting you in your chambers. I have something of note to discuss with you about Lord Balanche.” Adhlea didn’t feel any anger like she expected. She was too tired. “But that should be tomorrow. My wife awaits, as does our lover.”

Adhlea’s eyebrows shot up as Alistair stopped at a pair of doors that were too… _un-_ elaborate to be the throne room. Opening this pair of doors, they entered a dining room.

The Warden, the Hero of Ferelden, sat languishing in a chair with a cup in her hand, loose as the queen played with a lock of her hair.

“Doshiel?”

It slipped out of Adhlea’s mouth. Doshiel turned, her eyes lighting up with delight.

“Ah!” Doshiel set her cup down, took her hair back from the queen, and stood. Doshiel opened her arms wide. “Clan Lavellan, was it? Come, _lethallan!”_

Adhlea was pulled back as she stepped forward, Syven giving her a grin before hugging the other.

“ _Andaran atish’an, lethallan,”_ Syven muttered to her, giving her another squeeze before releasing her. “When did you get her from Clan –“

“Ah. That’s… A rather long story,” Doshiel said with a strained smile. “How did you come to be here, _lethallan?”_

Adhlea lifted her left arm ruefully. “Being a Herald, I suppose.”

Doshiel’s mouth dropped in shock.

“ _Druffalo shite!”_ she shrieked. “ _You,_ a member of the fucking _aristocracy?_ Fuck, and I thought I’d seen it all.”

“How’d you know?” Adhlea looked downward. Right, her clothes were splattered with future-people blood. She just barely contained her shudder.

The Warden stabbed a finger at her.

“ _Everyone_ knows the Herald of Andraste is the Masked Duchess.” Doshiel snorted.

_Lovely._


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must've been really tired to have this dude incorporated into the story. Fit of madness. Talking about Gavin, folks. And the Warden... The Warden is tired of fighting. She'd killed a ARCHDEMON. She deserves rest. And ale. Also, credit for the, er, INSPIRATION of Gavin goes to Warp Zone. One of their videos... INSPIRED me. 
> 
> (I don't have a life.)

“All monarchs got a copy of the writ, even the people in Nevarra and Antiva. Orlais and Ferelden aren’t the only ones to feel this unrest.” King Alistair sharply turned around, looking to where the Duchess now sat, in the _Ferelden_ version of court clothes. They were different than Orlesian due to the fact nobody wanted to wear hundreds of layers just to look pretty. So, essentially, she wore only a couple layers of comfortable fabric. Doshiel herself had lent the smaller elf some of her clothes. The other members of her party were in their rooms, Doshiel out here and drinking. Since leaving the Dales, the elf had cut back on her drinking severely. Alistair didn’t know if it were because she was now far, _far_ out of the reach of the Wardens in his court, or what. “They just exploded here. Orlais hasn’t helped matters. Nor has rumors of the Inquisition being headed by an apostate.”

“It’s not,” the Herald said when Alistair paused. “It’s not headed by an apostate. It’s headed by… Well.” The Herald shrugged. “We don’t have an Inquisitor. They have yet to elect one.”

Alistair dipped his head to her. “Precisely the reason I am worried,” the king admitted. “Divine Justinia was to elect an Inquisitor. She’s dead, so the decision rests in her Right and Left hands.” He paused, looking around his council. “Duchess, I heard word you ordered Lord Balanche to allow apostate mages in; that you threatened him.”

The Duchess came at him, her eyes cooling. It was odd, how her ‘Herald’ persona was full of fire and her ‘Duchess’ persona was full of ice. Interesting, to say the least. He knew Doshiel had two personas; one of a serious Grey Warden, and the other of a proud Dalish revivalist. Doshiel was not a mage, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel sympathy towards the mages’ plight.

“I did no such thing,” the Duchess said. “I merely _implied_ that he was going to leave. That’s it.” She shrugged. “I offered him a way out if he allowed the mages into Haven. I was awaiting your arrival in Haven, actually; things in the Hinterlands _happened_ and I had to help out the _lovely_ Grand Enchanter.”

Doshiel whistled lowly. “You _do_ realize this isn’t Orlais, right?” Alistair shot her a dark look.

“Right. Well. About the apostates,” Alistair began. “Are you raising an army to defeat Orlais and Ferelden?”

He glanced at the Duchess. She looked insulted.

“Who do you take me for, Enchanter Fiona? No. We need mages to stabilize the damn Breach so it doesn’t expand even more when we have to fix it.” Back to the Herald.

“Ghilin’nain’s horns, you didn’t close it?” Doshiel’s voice was entirely too shocked.

The Herald shook her head. “Not permanently. The problem was with the mark I received during the Conclave explosion.” She brought that hand up. “It closed it temporarily. There’s no way to tell when it’ll open again.”

“Damn.” Doshiel took a drink. “May Mythal show her favor on you.”

The Herald flicked a distasteful look to her. “Revivalist? I would’ve thought Andrastrian.”

Doshiel coughed. “Both, actually. I just need to get used to speaking in curses.” She tilted her head. “Isn’t your Keeper a revivalist?”

The Herald snorted. “No. Rituals are only for the major holidays.”

“Your… Shared history aside, Doshiel, Herald –“

“Kerrah.” At his look, the Herald shook her head. “Not Andrastrian, your Majesty.”

Doshiel laughed inappropriately at the irony of her situation. Kerrah just shot her a dark look. Alistair looked to the heavens and asked the Maker to grant him patience; he’d need it.

Then he looked back to her, eyes once more serious.

“I do realize that you are still recovering from what Alexius did to you. However, in order to stop whatever might happen, I must ask.” Alistair stopped his pacing and wheeled to stare at her.

A fleeting look of pure rage flashed across her face as she looked past him, looking out the window.

“The Breach was spread across the sky,” she said, her voice quiet. “Gereon Alexius made a deal with someone named Coryphenu –“ All of a sudden, she closed her eyes as she flushed. “The Elder One.” She muttered something that sounded like _thanks a lot, serah._ “Alexius sent us to the future –“

“Impossible,” one of his councilors interrupted. “Time travel is merely theoretical, not –“

“Many things are possible, now,” interrupted the Herald, her eyes snapping to the council member. “Especially considering there is a _giant fucking hole in the sky.”_

“Have to give her that,” Doshiel murmured, taking a swig of her drink.

“Oh. Yes, where _exactly_ does that hole lead to?” mused another Council member.

“The Fade,” the Herald said with a puzzled frown, glancing towards Alistair like _who is this guy?_

“He’s new to Fade sh – stuff,” Alistair said, nearly copying Doshiel and saying ‘Fade shit’. “This stuff is, admittedly, quite hard to process when you’re not a mage.”

“Hard to process even _when_ you’re a mage, believe me.” The Herald closed her eyes and pressed a hand on her _vallaslin,_ rubbing the blood-mark as though she had a headache. Doshiel had murmured to him the previous night as they’d headed to bed that her _vallaslin_ honored the mother goddess, Mythal, as much as Doshiel’s own honored Sylaise, the hearth-keeper; when someone else touched it that wasn’t elvhen, the _vallaslin_ produced an almost painful effect. Doshiel’s own was incomplete, yet as complete as she wanted it what with loving two humans. Doshiel had said that whenever they touched their own _vallaslin_ you really couldn’t feel it, so maybe it was like that fake alcohol she was currently drinking. She believed it was alcohol so it acted like alcohol; therefore the Herald thought touching her _vallaslin_ stopped a building headache, so it would.

(Alistair had taken _great_ pains when he’d found her on a, er, _random_ trip to the Dales. The clan she’d been given into had been hostile at first, going so far as to tie him and his sole guard up and threatening to eat him; when they’d found out Doshiel was in love with him, they untied them. It was only later that Doshiel had giggling-ly told him and his guard that the Aleriel were not, in fact, cannibals and simply threatening them because everyone thought Dalish elves _were_. Apparently Aleriel had been hiding her under her new name so as to not let the Wardens find her. All Dalish elves cared for their own and as Alistair hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, they’d assumed the worst. Alistair had not had the heart to tell Doshiel that the Aleriel _were_ getting annoyed by her drinking up all their ale, though. The fake alcohol had been concocted in secret; since the people at the tavern were _not_ forthcoming on how they made it, Alistair figured that keeping it in Denerim was fine. Also they may have threatened him. What? He may be king, but you don’t piss off your _best_ ale-makers unless you wanted your ale to taste like watered-down piss.)

(And on second thought, the fact that Dalish elves threatened to eat people because people _said_ they did was not exactly helping the Dalish elves as a whole.)

“Fade shit aside,” the Herald said, earning a snort from Doshiel, “I do not know who Leliana and Cassandra plan on making the new Inquisitor.”

“Hopefully it’s not a human,” Doshiel said with a grimace. The Herald looked dearly like she wished she’d said that, but didn’t dare.

“Why?” one of his councilors asked into another’s ear.

The councilor he’d asked was actually a friend to many dwarves. Yet it was still surprising to hear his response.

“Because every-fucking-other leader is a human, ‘bout time there was something like a fucking _Adaar_ or elf at the head of a super large organization. Fuck, Gavin, actually _read_ the damn room!”

“I don’t understand politics!”

“You don’t understand _shit,_ Gavin.”

“Why not dwarves, though?”

“Dwarves have their own rulers,” the Herald said with a grin, “and personally I’d rather an elf. Adaar, while great, are mostly under the Qun. And guess who the Qun have as rulers?”

“Adaars?” Gavin said timidly when it became apparent she was looking directly at him.

“Indeed,” she nodded.

“Then it should be an elf, right?” Gavin’s loud statement was bold and declarative.

“Be _very_ careful, councilor.” The Herald was now the Duchess, smiling at him in a way that screamed _don’t fuck up._ “Some people might not wish to hear that.”

“But you just said that _you_ would rather have an elf,” Alistair interrupted, frowning… and wondering immediately _why_ he was involved in this.

The Duchess waved a hand. “I’m very well-known to be pro-elf, Majesty,” she smiled at Alistair. “People don’t tend to argue with me even if they don’t take my side. Very few in my own Court would think to seek revenge on me.”

There was a definitive pause.

“But –“

“Gavin, _shut the fuck up.”_

“Yes, your Majesty.”


	33. Chapter 33

Doshiel met her by the window. Seeing the child from Clan Lavellan was like someone had slammed her head into a steel door. And yes. That had happened.

It was painful to see another Dalish elf in the city, trapped by circumstances that may not be her own. Doshiel did not leave due to several fears – Wardens, being run from Aleriel like she had from Sabrae, getting a fucking Call again, archdemons, take your fucking pick! – but she could at least _leave_ if she wasn’t afraid. This elf did not have that luxury.

No, Doshiel thought as she leaned against the wall, staring at the _da’len_ with studying eyes, this elf had no choice.

“Did you get banished?”

Doshiel’s question was stupid, because once banished you had your _vallaslin_ marred. Her _vallaslin_ was not marred.

“No. I…” the _da’len_ faltered for a moment. Doshiel heard footsteps that stopped, but did not turn. “Gaspard threatened my clan. We’ve… the Lavellan, we’ve settled near Wycome. I mean, it’s not _permanent,_ and they – we – do leave to visit other clans, but Gaspard told my Keeper he thought visiting a Dalish clan was simply a moment of curiosity. He threatened my clan with slavers, and my Keeper shoved me onto them.”

Doshiel’s eyes widened. “Holy fucking shit, what the hell is wrong with –“

“ _Nothing_ is wrong with Keeper Istimaethoriel,” the Lavellan _da’len_ snapped, turning to her with fierce, angry eyes. “Don’t – please don’t suggest something like that.” She gripped the side of the window. “I went back every summer. It was the only way to keep learning magic, keep up my strength, and to remember my promise. I would do it for the People. I’m a duchess. It’s different than the advisor to the Empress; instead of it being a covert affair…”

Doshiel understood. “While the elf bitch whispers in the Empress’ ear, you can bring allies to you and hopefully change things with the elves.”

The Lavellan snorted. “Yeah, something like that.”

Doshiel shrugged. “I kinda suck at being a Dalish elf.” She smiled at the Lavellan’s look of _well, I was thinking it but I didn’t want to say it._ “I honor the gods as best I can – including the Maker, because yes, _da’len,_ I’m also Andrastrian – but I do nothing in the court but listen. Here in Denerim, the people are fine with the system. It works.” Doshiel closed her eyes. “It will work, until it doesn’t. Rather, I think, like what that elf bitch in Halamshiral is thinking.” Doshiel took a swig of her drink, grimacing and wishing desperately it was real alcohol. Sadly, it wasn’t. “You aren’t the only elf trying to make things better, but you’re in the best position to actively do so. I believe Sylaise burns within you.” Doshiel placed a hand on her cheek; the Lavellan closed her eyes. Doshiel leaned in, the top of her _vallaslin_ meeting the Lavellan’s. She felt a wonderful cooling sensation on her forehead where her _vallaslin_ met her skin.

A throat cleared.

Both opened their eyes and removed foreheads, the younger elf flushing a little bit.

“Solas.”

Doshiel turned her head. The bald flat – er, _apostate_ elf (she had to remind herself that saying ‘flat-ear’ was offensive to city elves and Alistair had reminded her that his mistress or no, the people would [and had] complain[ed] to him) stood there, looking pretty uncomfortable.

“Forgive the interruption,” the apostate said, something in his eyes as he looked at Doshiel with an unfathomable look that made her shiver (in fear? dread? excitement?). “However, we must leave early tomorrow morning due to something going on at Haven. It may have something to do with the Breach.”

Doshiel watched the Lavellan nod even as she tensed up.

Lavellan gave her a smile before walking past her, Solas turning as she approached, as though to go with her.

 _“Tuelanen ama na,_ _da’len.”_ Creators protect you, child.

The Lavellan turned, a smile on her lips. _“Juviran ven es'an hama sul em._ ” I shall walk the path they lay for me.

She flushed again, then spoke once more. “ _Nuva es'an ama tas i'na.”_ May they protect you as well.

Doshiel waved a hand lazily. “I’ve got Alistair,” she winked, smiling.

The Lavellan smiled once more before Solas cleared his throat.

Doshiel’s smile faded as she stared at the bald elf as they walked. Something was definitely _strange_ with that man.

~:~

“You know, I don’t think I actually _know_ a ward like that.” Galifalon turned to Solas. “You’re the Fade expert of the Inquisition. Would it be possible?”

Solas thought about it for a moment, thinking. “I believe so,” he said, slowly. “Though unrealistic without immense preparation. Or a strong, almost unnatural inclination to ice.”

Galifalon snorted. “You’re looking at a natural-born ice mage,” he said with a smirk. “Kinda like sis, though she’s fire.”

Solas’ brows rose. “She has fire, and you ice?”

“Weird, isn’t it? Our sister Varaina’s inclined to the lightning element, though she doesn’t use it as well.” Galifalon shrugged. “Or last brother Fenris – he’s not a mage, but that might also be because he’s got lyrium brands.”

Solas frowned even as Dorian seemed to reflexively jerk his horse to the side.

“Dalish elves brand their –?”

“Fuck, no. He’s not Dalish.” Galifalon was clearly relishing the Common curses. “Kerrah and I are Dalish. Fenris and Varaina,” Galifalon gave him a huge grin, “were born in Tevinter.”

 _Slaves,_ most likely.

“A story that is not ours to tell,” Kerrah called back from the head of the line.

Galifalon pouted. “You kill all my fun,” he muttered.

“ _Fun_ is subjective, little brother.”

Galifalon lifted his eyes to the sky. “Dread Wolf take me,” he groaned.

 _No._ Solas flicked his reins. “ _Da’len,_ if this has to do with the Breach…”

“I’m actually going to talk to Leliana about attempting to close it soon.” She looked at him, concern in her eyes. “If we do, and something goes wrong… There are civilians in Haven.”

Solas tilted his head. “You’ve a plan, I assume?”

She nodded. “It’s terrible, but it might work. If, and this is just _if,_ the Breach ends up exploding, I’d like every civilian to be gone; I’ll ask Leliana if she’ll start evacuating them to other villages. My place of residence resides too close to the Breach.”

He nodded, agreeing with her. Hopefully, though, he’d have the Anchor back after the Breach was closed.

“If we’re going to attempt to close the Breach,” she said after another silence, “I’m going to need training. I was…” She hesitated, then went forth with it. “I was hoping you might train me.”

Solas blinked. He… had not expected that.

“Not about the Mark. It and I… As weird as it sounds, I feel like it and I have an understanding.” She stared at the Mark, which sputtered softly as she stared at it. She didn’t wince.

“And this… _understanding,_ does it draw on your mana?”

She glanced up at him, a fine crease between her brows.

“Yes,” she said, after a moment. He wondered if he’d said something in the future to that nature. “It’s taxing, but it doesn’t cause me any pain rather than if I don’t feed it. And that’s only when it’s active.”

“So, essentially, the Mark is a parasite,” Galifalon suggested, butting into the conversation.

“Eww, that’s nasty, that is!” Sera’s voice floated from behind them, discussing something rather lowly with the Iron Bull. Solas didn’t care.

The Herald’s face became annoyed and proceeded to use the hand with the Anchor to lift her middle finger to Galifalon.

There was a silence. Solas knit his brows together.

Dorian snickered. “Ah, dear, _thank you_ for that! I never thought _you_ would do that.”

He continued to snicker. Sera snorted; the Iron Bull chuckled.

Solas blinked. “What does that finger mean?”

It stirred a vague recollection in him, from the thousands of years wandering the Fade and possibly even from Arlathan, but… He didn’t remember what that gesture meant. Just that it was rude.

“Fuck you,” the Herald told him. Solas felt a little offended.

“ _That’s_ what the finger means?” Galifalon sounded stunned.

_Oh._

“Servants do it all the time to each other if they’re mad at one another.”

 _Ooh. Shemlen_ custom.

“Wow. If Keeper Desh – _Istimaethoriel_ saw you do that and knew what it meant she would’ve had you lugging the babies _everywhere.”_

“ _That’s_ how she got so strong?” muttered Dorian.

“No, she did other things too.” Galifalon smirked smugly at his sister. “Strong as the Iron Bull, if I’m right.”

“I’d like to see her muscles first,” the Iron Bull called back.

“I don’t wear shorter sleeves for _precisely_ that reason!”

“I’ve got to see ‘em,” Sera called up. “I’m going to get ya in short sleeves, just you wait Herald-tits!”

For some reason that made Kerrah explode into laughter.

“ _Sera,”_ she gasped. “I _love you.”_

“Is there somethin’ I’m missin’?” the crass elf asked as Dorian began to chortle.

“ _Cory –“_ the Dalish elf leaned forward, shaking so badly as she did Solas was quite afraid that she was going to fall off. She stopped, gaining a bit of control over herself. “You said,” she said before giggles erupted; she shook as she continued talking, “ _Coryphenuts._ ”

She erupted into laughter again; Solas’ entire body went cold.

She _did_ face Corypheus. She learned his name.

He had a bad feeling about all of this, though he simply allowed a wan smile to cross his lips as he fell back in case anyone looked at him.


	34. Chapter 34

Adhlea woke up early and walked outside Haven, walking over to the templar encampment. They were the only ones with proper targets; in the dim light of the morning, she tied her hair up and took a couple daggers from a chest. From there, she began throwing them.

She was _great_ at throwing them. Using them in close combat – like a sword, actually – was a huge mistake. Syven was good with arrows, shit with throwing daggers, relatively good with a sword (if he had to use one) but _amazing_ with using daggers in close combat.

It took _years_ for muscle memory to develop; Adhlea had used all the time at her clan wisely as well as the four years before she’d married Gaspard to get this damn good at throwing shit and using a bow. Projectile weaponry was her specialty.

“Oi, knife-ear!”

She stilled after throwing a knife.

There was also another reason why she was here. She’d _asked_ Cullen to be at the templar tents early. She wanted him to remain hidden, in case something bad happened.

“Yes?” her voice was quiet.

“Get the fuck out of our training area, ‘fore ya cut someone else’s ear,” a voice sneered, gaining ground. “Fuckin’ knife-ears.” She stepped forward as though _knowing_ his hand was coming near her shoulder. “You really should’a stayed in the fuckin’ alienage you came from, _rabbit.”_

She walked forward, calmly. Assuredly. She took two of the knifes out, bowing her head and walking towards the templar before passing him and bending over the chest – before whirling around and having the knife at his throat.

One hand, on his belt, froze. Wide eyes turned even more fearful as he realized he was well and _truly_ fucked.

“Cullen.” She _dearly_ hoped –

Nothing for a moment. The fear vanished from the templar’s eyes and he opened his mouth.

“Nobody’s gonna save ya here, _rabbit.”_

Fucking _hell,_ Cull –

“And just _why_ is that, Jenkins?”

Jenkins paled.

“I’ve heard some nasty rumors,” Adhlea smiled. “Just wanted to make sure they weren’t true; looks like I was wrong in believing you _wouldn’t_ abuse your power.” She waited until Cullen was behind him to remove her knife. The man tried to move quickly, but froze.

Cullen had his sword placed next to his ear.

“You dishonor the Templar Order, Jenkins,” Cullen said. “You can get him now.”

Two female templars appeared, their gazes furious.

Cullen returned his attention to Adhlea.

“It won’t work again,” he warned.

Adhlea smirked at him, causing him to frown.

“But it sends a message,” Adhlea replied, coolly. “It sends a message that whether a _knife-ear,”_ she glared at everyone standing there around them, many staring down with shame and still others _glaring_ at her, “or a human or a Qun or a fucking _dwarf_ is to be allowed to train here. If I here any more rumors of _assault_ by templars, I’m going to make certain that the templars are gone.” She flipped her dagger and aimed the hilt at Cullen. “That _includes_ you, if you can’t get a handle on your templars.”

“Would you do the same to the mages?” Cullen asked, narrowing his eyes.

Adhlea smirked. “I’ve already dealt with the mages.”

Yes, Elaine had been _furious_ – not about Adhlea’s warning that should rumors reach her ears, Adhlea wouldn’t hesitate – but that there were rumors of apostates assaulting other people.

Whether or not it was sexually, Adhlea wasn’t going to tolerate it.

~:~

Solas eyed her form as she swung her staff. It wasn’t _bad,_ but he wasn’t actually here to teach her anything to do with the staff. She stopped and knelt, perusing a book on a dry rock, only dry due to the protective barrier she’d placed under it. _Interesting._ He could see the edges; presumably it warded against the elements – at least until she took the book off and scorched it. That, too, carried a backlash if not done right.

She turned, swinging her staff around in a circle.

He realized, after a moment, what exactly she was doing. A ring of fire appeared, at first only at the tip; as she continued swinging, it looked like it sprouted from the opposite end of the staff.

 _No,_ he thought. She’d formed a fireball at a spot and forced the flame to spin.

She closed her eyes, as was her habit; another fireball formed.

She was starting to tremble. She’d probably been practicing for a while.

Then she stopped and switched directions with the staff. Solas cast a barrier as she opened her eyes.

The fireballs mostly landed on the frozen river. One stray fireball hit the pier; Solas threw a ball of ice to extinguish it.

“Oops,” the Herald offered with a wince.

“How long have you been here?” Solas eyed the dry ground. “Practicing Circle magic?”

“Not that long,” she said, turning to the book and waving her hand.

Nothing happened. She scowled deeply, then moved her hand in a forceful direction.

The book jerked off the rock, sailing into the snow a few meters from the rock.

The Herald scowled and walked over to it, flicking her staff and scorching the wards on the rock.

He could feel the magic lash out.

“Circle magic is so _hard,”_ she said, sitting down and taking a waterskin from the side of the rock. “Vivienne suggested I try to do what the apostates did in Witchwood; they used their own magic to hold their books up.”

“I remember,” Solas replied, sitting next to her. “Did you ask Lady Trevelyan?”

The elf shook her head. “No. She’s busy with her apostates. I thought it best to practice on my own.”

Solas tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You are very skilled,” he noted. She flushed – with pride or anger if she thought he was being condescending, he wasn’t too sure; she often seemed to feel contradicting feelings at once.

“Will you be teaching me some offensive magic?” she wondered.

Solas shook his head. “What I wish to teach you today is not offensive. If that is what you were hoping for, I deeply apol –“

“Solas.” He eyed her. “I appreciate _any_ time you take to teach me.”

She was being genuine. No masks here.

“Thank you.” He eyed her. “This magic is… not _exactly_ dangerous. It is useful for lighting flame that only you or another user of this particular magic can wield; well, that and water would do the trick. Also, your death.” She was looking less enthused now. “The point is, it is a variant of your flame. It reveals things that were previously hidden.”

He called to it. Shaping it with his hands, he cupped the flame and brought the Veilfire to life.

Greenish-blue fire danced in the palm of his hands. Her eyes went wide.

“It is extremely difficult to bring to life,” Solas admitted. “Your natural inclination to fire would, I assume, make it easier. My predilection for ice magic makes it weaker.”

“It’s pretty,” the flame-haired elf breathed, leaning closer.

“Cup your hands,” Solas offered, an idea beginning to form. It might not work; magic so rarely worked the way one wanted it to. Perhaps, though, with the Anchor close, he could help the process along. She followed his instruction easily. He transferred the flame to a single hand, then took her Anchor hand with his right. Her eyes widened.

“Apologies,” he said to her, gently nudging the Anchor to accept his direction. “I acted without thought. I can try to –“

“No, it was just startling,” the magenta-eyed woman said, her eyes returning to the flame. “A connection is needed, then?”

He nearly started as she nodded towards the Anchor. Could she _feel_ the magic he was nudging? Odd.

“Yes, again. I should have warned you.” He focused, drawing his other hand to hover over her Anchor hand. As normal, she closed her eyes, her magic sluggishly touching his from her other hand. Solas nearly took his hand away as her magic touched his – his magic screamed _wrong wrong wrong_ – but he remained steady, breathing as one did and not letting his dislike of the world’s magic show on his face or in his magic.

Carefully, he let it drop into her awaiting palm.

Her eyes shot open, a crease forming in the branches of her _vallaslin_ as she stared at the fire in her grasp. He kept up some magic.

“Here is the flow. Feel it.” She kept staring at it, mesmerized; when he felt her magic overtaking his in a similar manner, he slowly released the magic.

As soon as he had, it vanished. The flames did sputter before vanishing, meaning she _could_ hold them; it was just a manner of her holding them consciously.

Solas once more summoned the flames, still holding onto her Anchor hand.

“Feel them,” he ordered. “Try to remember how much mana you’ll use.”

She frowned at them harder as he slid them into her palm.

Repetition, he’d learned, was a good thing when it came to magic. Certain spells only needed a rudimentary grasp of knowledge in order to do what you’d like. What Solas was showing her was how they felt, how he summoned them. He’d no need for a staff with this spell.

She was not able to sustain the flames indefinitely, due to her other practicing; Solas had a suspicion she’d practiced more than Circle magics as she cupped her trembling hands again, for about the twelfth time he’d summoned the flame.

“That’s it for today,” he said, taking his hand from her warm Anchor.

“I can still –“ she began, a frown on her face, only for Solas to hold up a finger.

“You don’t want to strain yourself too badly, _da’len._ Doing this alone has brought you to the point of exhaustion; I suspect that with a little more time, we shall go on to conjuring the Veilfire. For now, here is another lesson: _know your limits.”_

She looked a little murderous, but allowed her hands to drop to her lap – before her eyes lit up.

“How come you don’t use a staff for lighting that Veilfire? Wouldn’t it be easier?”

He was already shaking his head.

“No. The staff of a mage emits what you wish; as in, if you suddenly desired to freeze a strip of land, you would need to _focus._ Mages need staves to focus their will, or else you would be practically ripping at the Fade.” Well, no. Mages didn’t; when one learned it from birth, plucking at the Fade was like strumming a gentle instrument. A gentle instrument that, should you pluck too hard, you would grab the attention of either a spirit or a demon; Solas had known his own limits, therefore the risks were less. Mages in the now had to reach _past_ the Veil and into the Fade. If Kerrah had been –

 _No._ He quashed the thought before he could think it fully.

“Shall we head back to Haven? I would assume Leliana or Cassandra would be worried for you.”

She nodded, standing and brushing snow off of her before picking back up the Circle text; she slung her staff on her back and started as he did, carefully walking across the frozen lake. Snow was starting to fall again.

For a few moments, they were silent.

“For some stupid reason, I thought I was going to be sentenced to death by the Chantry when I went to Val Royeaux.”

He nodded. “An adequate worry.”

She chuckled. “Only when you consider how much doom-and-gloom stories Leliana was sharing with Cassandra. Other than that, I really shouldn’t have been; I was also imagining another Divine Justinia.”

Solas looked to her. “You sound as though you knew her.”

She smiled at Solas, the smile a trifle sad.

“Upon my introduction to the Orlesian Court, Divine Justinia called me to meet her. We met, I told her exactly what I was, and she asked – well, you know Orlesians, they don’t _ask_ – me to take Leliana to Kirkwall. Obviously, I did not refuse. Then she came to my chateau to request my attendance at the Conclave, I went, and – well.” She shrugged. “This shite happened.”

Solas chuckled lightly. “Seems the most strange things happen to you, no?”

She laughed lightly, breath forming in the frosty air.

They walked in companionable silence; just as they reached the other side, Cullen ran up. His face was a poorly-concealed look of fear of something – no, _of_ something.

“Lady Herald!” Kerrah twitched. “Some Inquisition scouts have been trapped in the Fallow Mire. Leliana wanted to know if you were up to going?”

Kerrah nodded. “I’ll leave in the morning.” She tossed Solas a slightly amused look. “I don’t know where this Fallow Mire is. Want to join?”

“I do,” Solas replied. “We will do our exercises each morning and night.”

He found himself amused at the fleeting look of absolute dread that flashed across her face.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. All the hints towards the Dread Wolf? Totally intentional. Don't care if you're already tired of them. I've never made as many references before, and there's all the more to come! :D 
> 
> And about the vallaslin...  
> I thought... Well, isn't it kind of stupid that the vallaslin is said to have been slave markings, and yet - yet even in many fics, I've yet to see an actual USE for them. I mean, yeah, they honor the gods. But... WHY CAN'T YOU MAKE THEM FEEL SHIT? Like earlier I expanded a whole bunch on them and not a peep! Really want your opinions on my writings, folks, just no flames. They'll just make me write more weird shit.
> 
> Also, the next chapter is the Avvar fight and it's pretty lame compared to my other fight scenes... Haha... I'm actually honestly terrible at fight scenes. It's like one of the only ones. Mostly because I don't actually have the guts to vividly describe the deaths of various characters. I'll probably add in a few more scenes, buuut they'll be further on. Sorry/not sorry. Horrible action writer here.
> 
> Read and review, please. :D

The Fallow Mire was wet. And miserable. And full of the undead.

All in all, Adhlea regretted coming here. Solas, too, looked like he was sorely wishing he could have stayed.

“I’ve heard this place stays wet all year,” Blackwall said, chopping the head of a walking skeleton off.

“I’m not surprised if it does.” Adhlea glanced up. There was no sign of the Breach, which was surprising and yet… not. It was so cloudy she’d be surprised if it could shine through that. She fired off a few fireballs, hitting some of the skeletons. Bones clattered to the ground.

“Herald!” An Inquisition scout, Lace Harding, appeared, running through the rain. “We’ve got a pretty nice space over here!” Harding yelled over the downpour. “Sadly, we only have three tents, and one of them’s occupied!”

Adhlea _genuinely_ regretted picking men, all of a sudden.

“Lovely,” Dorian said with a smirk. “What do you say, Blackwall? Feel up to being roommates?”

Blackwall nodded after Adhlea looked away, trying not to give away how uncomfortable she’d be sharing with _Blackwall._ It’s not that Blackwall wasn’t _nice,_ but he was just… He _stared._ It made her a little uneasy, but she didn’t know why. Dorian winked at her, making her blink at him.

“Come on, _da’len._ We’ll do our exercises and then rest.” He walked up to Harding and gestured to her, pointing at himself and Kerrah. Harding nodded before motioning them to follow.

The rest of the group plodded forward, soaked thoroughly.

“It’s risky to have tents here,” Harding explained, gesturing to the overhanging shelf as the rain sound died down when they went under it. “We’ve got intel on the scouts, though. They’re being held by the Avvar chieftain of this area.” She straightened as they came into a cave. Ah, yes. _Caves._ Best thing ever…

“Why?” Adhlea frowned. Harding glanced up at her.

“Word is, he wants to battle _you,_ Herald.” Harding threw her a worried glance. “I’ve heard his gods told him his tribe would be blessed by the Sky-Mother if he beat you.”

“Avvar tend to fight until the death, right?” Harding nodded.

“If you choose to fight him, it’s recommended you don’t bring a staff.” Adhlea frowned again. Harding offered her a smile-grimace. “You’d be considered a cheater. Any win you make, it has to be with knives or bows.”

_Of course it does._

“Captain!”

Harding turned with the group. At the entrance to the cave, one of the camp’s scouts was dragging in another one. The second one was extremely injured, but alive.

“Captain, the Avvar actually _want_ a fight,” the uninjured man said, his gaze flicking over the wet group. “They’re _very_ insistent that their gods demand it.”

“Of course they do,” Adhlea muttered. “They’re using the name of their gods to fight me. Creators above.”

“Do you want us to see what herbs are around here?” Dorian asked, volunteering Blackwall. “I’m certain you don’t want us to watch you if you…”

“Fail? No, that’d be sad.” Adhlea tapped her lips. “Harding, who has the last shift to watch and make sure the undead don’t overrun this camp?”

“That would be Darrin. He just took the last shift, so he’s sleeping.” Harding folded her arms. “Want him to wake you two when his shift starts?”

Adhlea nodded. “I would.”

When they entered the tent, Adhlea’s heart was beating rapidly. Solas immediately drew a sleeping bag against the other side of the tent; she dragged hers elsewhere and shucked her outer layer. No matter how cold she was before she went to bed, she was always practically – and pretty grossly – dripping with sweat when she woke up.

When she did, she was surprisingly cool. She shifted, wondering why; then she spotted a cooling sigil on the bottom of the tent. Solas was out of the tent; Adhlea grabbed her jacket and got up. They waited out there, without looking impatient. Adhlea wondered why she’d woken up, then assumed it to be the coolness. It was a welcome change, if she was honest.

“Thank you,” she murmured to Solas.

“You were overheating,” Solas said, simply. He offered her a small smile. “I highly doubt you enjoy waking up in the heat.”

“You’re not wrong.” Sleeping with Allana and Cassandra that one time had been strange, and she had worried, but she’d been pressed against the wall of the tent. Besides, it’d been the fucking Hinterlands. The night was always freezing there. “I know you know I’m inclined to fire, but maybe you could show me how to make the rune?”

He nodded. “No matter what inclination you have, ice runes can be used by anyone,” he explained.

She nodded once more at him in thanks.

~:~

“How is the evacuation going?” Elaine hopped on the War Table as she asked that.

“Well, slowly,” Cullen admitted, “as we do have to search for a place to hold the civilians until we close the Breach. Lady Vivienne suggested a village six days from here; we’ve been funneling them there slowly in case we _are_ being watched.”

“You think we’re not?” Leliana folded her arms. “As of late I feel an ominous shadow around.”

“I’m not saying we are not,” Cullen said, standing and putting a hand on his sword. “It’s just a matter of telling whoever is watching that we are a village of soldiers or a village of both civilians and soldiers. It makes less sense to send civilians away unless we’re sure in our military might.”

“From what the Herald was saying, it’s not Orlais or Ferelden.” Elaine met their gazes with intensity. “It’s this Corypheus guy. I don’t think he gives a damn if civilians are leaving.”

They exchanged glances.

“You don’t believe her,” Elaine realized.

“Time travel… is impossible,” Cullen said. “And her words are only backed by a man from Tevinter and an apostate elf who seems to have undying faith in her. I’m _not_ saying she is wrong –“

“No wonder she doesn’t fully trust you and takes matters into her own hands,” Elaine interrupted, scoffing. “Is it because she’s an elf, or a mage?”

“Neither her race nor her powers define our trust in her,” Leliana said, glaring at Elaine. “She knows what happened to the Divine, yet she’s said nothing. How can we trust her if she says nothing about that?”

“Maybe it was traumatizing!” Elaine threw her hands up. “From what she’s said, the Divine was amazingly kind to her. Fuck, Leliana! _Ask_ her. _Ask_ her for the full story! I almost _guarantee_ she’ll not argue and she’ll tell you!” Another thought occurred to her. “And you _do_ realize that the Herald has given you her trust, right? The least you could’ve done was give her the same.”


	36. Herald vs Avvar

Adhlea and Solas stepped into the Avvar stronghold. It was really weird to see them in the ruins of a castle. From her thoughts, she’d imagined them camping like the Inquisition had, in the caves around the area. It was just _weird_ to realize that no, this tribe did no such thing, instead camping directly under the rain.

She’d barely slept after her Veilfire exercises with Solas. Good news: She’d conjured up a spark of a flame. Bad news: Solas had deemed her still not ready to push forth.

It had been awkward for her, in the same tent as another elf… And a man, at that. Yes, he’d only taken off his pack, but it was still the principle of the thing. It was different than falling asleep on a tree next to him. Somehow.

“I sense an Elvhen artifact,” Solas murmured to her.

Adhlea flicked her hand. “I don’t think I’ll need help,” she whispered back. “I’m going to dissuade him from this way.”

“You _do_ realize he is the one with the mace, yes?” Solas questioned her.

Adhlea looked to him, then back at the Avvar leader.

“I am well aware of what he wields. Get to the artifact, then find the soldiers,” she whispered back. “If you can’t get them out without killing, then do whatever it takes.”

“That might be against their tribal rules,” Solas murmured.

“It isn’t against _mine,”_ Adhlea hissed at him before striding forward. In the back of her mind, she could feel Solas slipping away from her as she did so; the silence of the Avvar unnerved her.

“You,” the leader rumbled. “You who have dared to take our lands.” Oh, yes – the Frostbacks were home to a number of Avvar leaders.

“I am the Herald,” she said, her voice strong. “You have some of my people. I’ve come to retrieve them.”

The Avvar man stood. _Holy shit,_ he was as tall – if not taller – than the Iron Bull.

 _I wonder,_ she thought, ice sliding through her veins, _if I have not made the biggest mistake of my life._

“Beat me in single combat,” the man rumbled. “And I will have no choice but to bow to you.”

Adhlea took out her daggers.

“Ready when you are, Chieftain,” she said with teeth bared in a facsimile of a smile.

He _grinned_ at her words before descending the steps, briefly setting down his mace and discarding his wolf pelt.

In a similar fashion, in recognition of their customs, Adhlea quickly unbuckled her Enchanter’s cloak and did her hair up as he turned to his tribesmen.

“In the fashion of our people, in recognition of the Sky-Mother, she is to be given the Challenger’s Mark!”

An Avvar with a bowl of paint approached. She pointed towards the Avvar chieftain, then motioned clumsily to remove one more layer.

Adhlea shucked off her Orlesian coat, as warm as it was, and stepped from her boots. Gooseflesh rose as she did so, the rain making her even more wet and miserable as she stood there. The Avvar woman took her right arm and drew once, then twice, two loops around her arm. Even though it was raining, it did not force the paint to run.

“You are ready,” the Avvar announced. Adhlea watched as the Avvar stepped back.

The Avvar man ran at her with a beastly roar.

Adhlea dodged his first blow with wide eyes.

His mace slammed the ground with a bone-rattling _slam._ Adhlea heard it being removed and turned, running at him before attempting to dodge it.

It clipped her Anchor arm.

A shout of pain and the Anchor spiking in agitation later, Adhlea wondered how the fuck she was so damn stupid as to let it _touch her._

 _Focus,_ teldirthalelan. _Do not let anything distract you._ Adhlea ducked a swing. _If it’s a larger opponent using a sword, use the moments in between._

Adhlea’s bare feet slammed on the ground as the elf shot for the steps. She heard the man running after her, felt the air begin to bend. She slid, her body slamming onto the ground and knocking the breath out of her. Stars formed in her vision as her left arm was jostled. Rain was making the wounds bleed heavily.

Adhlea got up, forcing her left arm to move, grasping her dagger and getting up with it. Her right arm clutched her dagger in a death grip.

 _I simply need to disarm him._ She made it to the top of the steps as he brought the mace down, cracking the steps where she’d fallen. _Fuck._ Her eyes caught sight of several members limping away. This man could _not_ turn away; she thought frantically.

“Dread Wolf take you!”

The Avvar _laughed._ “Not even your Dread Wolf can save you, child of the hearth-keeper.”

 _I chose Mythal,_ Adhlea thought, gripping her daggers as he brought the mace up. _Mythal, grant me your protection!_ She darted forward, forcing her legs to move well on the slippery slope and, with all her Creators-given strength, slammed into the Avvar leader.

Both of them sailed down, slamming hard against the steps. The chieftain bellowed in wordless agony; Adhlea heard the mace rolling down. She decided to disarm him. Not completely.

He howled again as she stabbed her daggers in each of his arms, in the shoulder-muscle. As she’d been taught in her clan, those wounds would remain.

Then she stood, picking the mace handle up, and brought it sailing around to land, with a satisfying crunch, next to his head.

It took a lot out of her as the warriors went silent; the chieftain going silent.

“ _Yield_ , chieftain.”

“He yields,” an older voice said, the voice dark and furious.

Adhlea looked up to see –

She looked down. “You are dishonorable,” she informed the Avvar beneath her. “False chieftain.”

He bared his teeth at her. She bared her teeth at him, yanking out her daggers mercilessly.

“For the time being, he was chieftain.” The Avvar who had declared his warrior had lost dropped his kill. “You have earned the stripes of the Sky-Mother, daughter of the protector. Few outsiders have; show some pride in it.”

The same Avvar from before melted from the darkness, holding the same bowl.

On the same arm, the Avvar added three lines – one connecting the two bars and extending past it, then two more on either side.

“You may go. Your people have long left.” The Avvar waved his hand. Adhlea took her clothes and left the stronghold. A few of the Inquisition scouts remained there, warily eyeing yet another Avvar who stood beneath a Rift. The Avvar turned to her, his face unmarked by Avvar war-paint.

(How she knew so much about Avvar culture? She lived in the Frostbacks, for Mythal’s sake. There was reason for her to. She knew that there was penalty for a false chieftain to declare a champion’s match; problem was she didn’t know if the punishment was given to her or him.)

“The Sky-Mother says you can close these holes in Her,” the Avvar rumbled.

Adhlea nodded. She shoved her clothes at a scout – “Hold onto them for me, please,” she requested with a forced smile – and charged at the demon-spawning rift.

She was lucky, only having the difficulty of killing the shades that constantly threw balls of magic at her as she tried to close it. Also, the Avvar killed half of them.

The Inquisition members killed the rest.

She turned to the Avvar.

“Have you a clan?” she asked.

The Avvar shook his head. “I wander,” he replied.

Adhlea gave him a close-mouthed smile. “Would you like a place to wander from?”

Yes, she was offering an Avvar a place in the Inquisition.

The Avvar gave her a smile, full of teeth.

“As long as the Sky-Mother ails, I shall join your cause,” the Avvar man announced.


	37. Unto The Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're going to ask about the supposed typo I made... No, there isn't a typo in this chapter. It's intentional.

_King Alistair,_

_We of the Magisterium would like to personally handle Magister Gereon Alexius’ punishment. His son, Felix Alexius, has spoken rather harshly of what occurred; we desire to hear it from the magister himself._

_Thank you in advance,_

_The Archon_

_~”~_

_Archon,_

_With all due respect, the Magisterium must speak to the one person who holds Magister Alexius’ fate. The Inquisitor Lavellan._

_King Alistair Cousland_

_~:~_

_Keeper,_

_Since we’ve last written, a lot of things have happened. Actually, since I left. I have two siblings (Syven most likely told you of them) I found in Kirkwall. I met Doshiel Aleriel in Denerim; she’s King Alistair and Queen Anora’s lover. We had a chat. It was uncomfortable._

_I have not had much of a chance since the hole appeared in the sky to write. My sincerest apologies. I’ve more recently found myself called a Herald of Andraste. Ridiculous. I still hold steadfast to my faith in Mythal. Somehow, I have created a temporary peace between mages and templars in Haven. It’s – I still have no idea how._

_We’re getting ready to close the giant hole in the sky, Mamae. And yes, I know you are not my mother, but you once said… Well, you know. I’m scared, Mamae. I’m absolutely terrified that I might actually die doing this and I don’t_ want to, _Mamae. I still feel my work is unfinished._

_Oh! I nearly forgot. I’m learning to refine my magical skills by an apostate Fade-Walker. He’s strict, and he’s kind of like you. He flicks my ears. It’s rude. And mean. You two would get along great. I miss everyone._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Adhlea_

~:~

Haven was empty of all but the Chantry Father and sisters and the mages and templars. Vivienne had left – With several carts. With things Adhlea had in her own cabin.

Annoying, but Vivienne had a bad feeling. Vivienne also didn’t like to take chances.

So there they were, ahead of her. Dorian, a Tevinter mage; Solas, an apostate mage; Cassandra, a Seeker; Varric, a storyteller; and the Iron Bull, a fucking _Qunari._ Adhlea looked behind her, at the mass of silently terrified mages and templars.

This made her heart pound. But… But it also made her somewhat _proud._ Because fucking mages and templars were _working together._

“What is it?” Elaine stopped next to her.

“I think tonight will be a change in history,” Adhlea smiled.

Elaine looked troubled. “You’re not scared?”

Adhlea turned. “I’m terrified,” she admitted. “But if I die… It would all be worth it, to close the Breach.”

She strode forward, staff a heavy weight on her back.

“We die tonight, I want it to be known,” a shaking Minaeve blurted, causing people to give her curious looks, “I’ve always wanted to go out doing something really awesome. Like fighting a dragon.”

Adhlea paused. She’d seen Minaeve around the Chantry in the past months and weeks, but as Adhlea rarely spent time inside the Chantry as a rule save for the War Room, it wasn’t hard to imagine the duo not meeting. All she knew was Minaeve had expressed a desire to _study_ creatures. Not kill them.

“I thought you disliked fighting?” Cullen asked, his ridiculously thick armor not hindering him in any way.

“I’ve always wanted to fight a dragon!” Minaeve sounded offended. “I just… It has to be in a safe environment.”

Adhlea tilted her head.

“Oi, Iron Bull!” The tall Qun turned his head towards her. “We survive this, we’re taking Minaeve to fight a dragon. Good with that?”

“Sure thing, Boss!” The tall Qun glanced at Minaeve. “Don’t worry, it depends on what dragon you choose to fight and where! There’s the fire-breather in Ferelden.”

“There’s a _dragon_ in Ferelden?” Minaeve squawked, paling.

“Ah, don’t worry! Only wyverns tend to come around the Frostbacks,” the Iron Bull laughed.

That didn’t seem to be Minaeve’s worry.

“We’re here,” Cassandra announced, her voice grave. “Everyone in position.”

Silence descended once more. Adhlea hung back, staring at the Breach with fear.

“Opening it will be much harder than closing it,” Solas murmured, “but with every mage concentrating and giving you their power, you should have more than enough power to open and close it.”

“I know,” Adhlea whispered, recalling the letter she’d sent to Deshanna a week ago. She wished, suddenly, she’d thought of it sooner. Wished she could say her goodbyes.

She closed her eyes and stepped forward, Solas’ hand that was on her shoulder falling off.

Setting her shoulders, she strode into the middle of the silent courtyard.

Meeting Cullen’s grim face as the templars got ready, she nodded. He nodded as soon as the line was done.

Mages’ staves glowed. She met first Solas’ eyes; Solas bent his head to her in respect. She quirked her mouth before her eyes trailed along the apostates, staring each of them in the face before meeting Elaine’s tearful expression.

“All of you,” Adhlea started, turning to the Breach, “have sacrificed a lot. Should we survive this, let’s drink a pint together, all right? On me.”

A smattering of chuckles.

Adhlea took another deep breath before extending her hand.

She opened the Breach. Demons started to formed. This was where the templars came in handy, as a series of Holy Smites ( _smites? Smitings?_ Ugh, templar terminology) made them return to the Fade. Adhlea raised her hand once more.

“Mages!” Elaine’s authoritative voice was echoed by Fiona’s as they sent their magic into Adhlea.

Adhlea let her mind feel above her, in the Breach.

The Breach was a gaping wound in the fabric of reality. What Adhlea had done was push the sides together haphazardly and hope it worked. Now, though, Adhlea had to drag the Veil itself back together, a piece at a time; she focused the Anchor in doing so.

She did not move for what seemed like hours as demons poured out, en masse. A pride demon jumped through. The templars did their duty and beat it down, vanquishing it.

Adhlea’s arm trembled. She was halfway through when a mage’s power stopped; they were probably unconscious.

_Or dead._

_Keep going._ It sounded oddly like her Keeper. _You can do this. You must._

No, that _was_ her Keeper What the _fuck_ what was her Keeper doing here

 _Where the Fade is concerned, you are an inch away,_ her Keeper admonished gently. _You must keep going._

_I do not think I am strong enough._

_If you are not strong enough, then you will die. Everyone you know will die._ Her Keeper spoke matter-of-factly. _Do you want that, da’len?_

_No._

_Then_ do _it._ She could _feel_ a phantom pain in her ear as though her Keeper had flicked her there in admonishment. _And know the People will never desert you, da’len._

Adhlea pushed through. She pushed through even as her hand spiked with pain, even as she felt mages collapse around her. Her Keeper’s magic had long since left her, but Adhlea knew. Adhlea knew she was watching as she slowly closed her hand and forced the tear in the Veil to close.

She jerked her hand back. For a moment, the rift leading to the Breach remained for a long moment before a pulse exploded out in the sky, the rift bursting into non-existence; Adhlea fell to the ground, staring as the hole in the sky was covered by clouds.

“THAT’S WHAT I CALL _MAGIC_!” Dorian’s exultant shout broke it. Cheers exploded around the place.

Adhlea laughed joyously.


	38. Chapter 38

Their joy did not last long.

Adhlea dropped her tankard, a sick feeling as half the mages still awake and conscious ran out. Adhlea followed, hearing the warning bells ring.

“Some of the trebuchets aren’t firing!”

Adhlea’s eyes widened at the approaching army. She shouted over to Cullen, causing him to jerk.

“ _Cullen, whose colors?”_

Cullen shook his head. “ _None!”_ he shouted back.

Adhlea took up her staff, leaping over the wall and grunting when she slammed onto the ground.

“ _Herald, what are you doing?”_ Cullen grasped her hand and tried to stop her.

She stared into his eyes.

“We don’t let people die,” she snarled. “Get them to the Chant –“

A roar pierced her bones. Adhlea jerked as Cullen did, a fucking _dragon_ appearing and spewing flame at Haven.

Fire landed. Thunder clapped from where it hit the ground. _FUCK!_

“Get them to the Chantry, Cullen! They’ll die!”

Adhlea slammed out of the town, staff in hand. She stopped as a templar’s sword narrowly missed her before the templar toppled. A human boy looked up at her with otherworldly eyes.

“They’re hurting,” the boy whispered. “They want it to end. They’re screaming and scared. He’s angry, thief. He’s coming for you.”

Adhlea felt a chill down her spine, but jerked her thumb inside, getting ready to tell him –

“If I want to help, I’ll get in there? Of course.” He paused. “I’ll help the ones on the ground.”

She nodded before running. The Iron Bull was already using his axe to chop down lyrium-addled templars; ice flew from nowhere to slam into one who attempted to hack into Blackwall. Further up, Cassandra and Varric were helping the trebuchet-handler; Adhlea put her staff on her bag and joined them up there.

“Move, soldier!”

The struggling and inebriated soldier moved, throwing up her hands.

“Cassandra, get the soldier to the Chantry!” Adhlea drew the trebuchet back by herself, thanking every Creator that she wasn’t dumb enough to relent on her strength training. She was having quite a bit of trouble, but the adrenaline pushing her through was more than enough for another push.

The trebuchet fired, slamming into the mountain where the bulk of the red templars were coming from. An avalanche drowned them out, stopping all of them in their path. Not like they didn’t have a good bunch of them still running at them!

Adhlea run up the path to the other trebuchet, fireballs, weaker than usual, slamming into others. Lightning sparked under another.

Adhlea turned. _Varaina._ Syven stood next to her, a young woman with Falon’Din’s markings on her face casting barriers. They formed a truly fierce trio – especially as the woman cast an immolation circle at a red templar without even looking.

Adhlea grit her teeth together. _Fuck,_ she thought, despairing, turning back around and running up the hill to the final trebuchet outside of Haven.

“Someone help!” she shouted as she found herself ass-deep in red templars.

A distinctly Qunari roar answered her. An axe broke one of them in half; Adhlea trusted the Qun (she thought it was Bull) to watch her back as she turned, throwing an Antivan fire potion down; the searing heat made her eyes water.

“Nice one, lady!”

Oh. Well. Adhlea found her back pressed against the Qun _lady’s_ back.

“Thanks!” Adhlea yelled back. “Got a knife?”

“Left side! In a loop!”

Adhlea reached blindly and plucked the knife, throwing it at the archer.

“Archers!” the Qun lady bellowed.

“Barriers!” Adhlea cast a barrier. “It’ll deplete soon, move in two seconds!”

Adhlea twisted her staff before flicking her free hand. Fireballs slammed into one of the archers as the Qun lady moved.

The Qun lady made quick work of some of the templars, then lunged for the trebuchet. Adhlea leaped onto the platform, glaring at the templars who followed mindlessly.

She started to try another spell –

“ _DON’T TOUCH MY SECOND!”_

Enaste’s voice boomed over the chaos. Adhlea thought she sounded just like her mother at the last Arlathvhen when she found Syven had spiked their drinks.

(Keeper Deshanna was terrifying. Why Enaste wasn’t Keeper Deshanna’s First was a genuine mystery at times like these. At others… not so much.)

Templars turned to see the three elves. The Qun lady grunted, the trebuchet moved – then the templars made the mistake of rushing the daughter of Clan Lavellan’s Keeper.

Winter’s Grasp, a weather spell, formed in a circle, freezing them. Syven looked in awe as it only affected the templars to the point of freezing despite the spell covering the hill. Snowflakes formed.

Enaste rose her staff horizontally, looking annoyed.

“You piss me off,” the mage said before turning her staff vertically.

They writhed before collapsing, their inner organs – which were apparently necessary for even red templars – completely crushed.

“Fuuuck,” Varaina said, drawing out the word. “So _that’s_ why when you appeared Syven looked at you like you were the Maker?”

Just like that, Enaste leaned heavily against her staff. Not because she was tired; Enaste was extraordinarily _lazy._ Reason number one why she was number three in line to become Keeper.

“Mmm. Let’s get this going, yes?” Enaste straightened with a pout. “I like conserving my energy. I was in the middle of a sightseeing project when I got called by Keeper to babysit a flat-ear.”

“ _Keep her safe,”_ Syven said, rolling his eyes. “Also, _asa’ma’lin,_ you know you have a Qunari behind you that isn’t the Iron Bull?”

“Adaar,” the Qun – er, _Adaar_ – said, stomping behind Adhlea. “Qunari are cultists. I’m non-Qunari. Adaar. Name’s Yenera, from the tribes of Adaar in the Free Marches. I come to join the Inquisition and the night I come, the giant hole in the sky is closed and I’m suddenly ass-deep in demons and templars with red lyrium. Yay.”

Her deadpan delivery was met with silence.

“We should go back,” Adhlea said, well-aware of the awkward situation. “All of us. Yenera, we might have a use for you after all!”

She turned to smile at Yenera. Yenera smiled back at her. Seeing as Adhlea had only ever seen the Iron Bull, she’d assumed – wrongly – that the female Qunari (Adaar) looked similar. Oh, how wrong; this one was taller than Adhlea, yes, but that was where the similarities ended. Her skin was a healthy bronze, white hair in a braid and draped across a shoulder. Horns, wildly twisted back, seemed to help keep her hair back.

Adhlea felt envious of her outfit – so much skin showed, Adhlea wondered how she was protected at all.

“Let’s kill some shit,” the warrior laughed. “Come on, elf!”

The Adaar picked her up easily, settling Adhlea in such a way that Adhlea could cast easily. Essentially, Adhlea was _sitting_ on one of the warrior woman’s arm’s while the other arm handled the big-ass axe with almost stupid ease.

Syven looked mutinous.

“What the _fuck?”_ he whined. “I want that to happen to _me!”_

Adhlea stuck her tongue out. Enaste cleared her throat.

“Let’s hurry,” Adhlea said, turning to Yenera. Yenera nodded before setting off at a comfortable jog; Adhlea felt _really_ uncomfortable. She didn’t end up casting, because Varaina and Syven put up an excellent offense while Enaste jogged behind them, casting barriers on all of them.

Syven was also laughing at her. Every time he cast an ice-ball, he threw her a smirk.

Behing Yenera’s back, Adhlea gave him a murderous glare.

“Halt! Who –“ Adhlea whipped her head around, forgetting to change her expression as she glared at Cullen. Cullen backed off. Adhlea whistled as loud as she could; Yenera winced.

“Call them back, Cullen. And this is Yenera. She’s helping.” Adhlea returned her attention to Cullen as she heard the Iron Bull shouting the retreat. _Good._ Her system of whistle – _druffalo shite, they needed to get in NOW!_

 _“RUN!”_ Bull shouted, being followed by a big group of red templars. Blackwall was limping and running as fast as he could, pushed along by Solas and his potions.

Enaste cracked her back, stepping forward.

“Move,” she ordered them crisply.

They dived out of the way as Enaste once more summoned Winter’s Grasp, freezing about half of them.

“Let me down!” The Adaar dropped Adhlea on her feet. Adhlea drew on her reserves, stepping a bit past Enaste. “Syven! The ale!”

There were several tankards of ignitable ale sitting on the trebuchet, mostly because the apostates who’d procured it hadn’t anywhere else to put it. The Chantry had too much in its stores.

“Right!” the rogue shot towards them, slamming his knife down and flinging the ale.

“Hurry!” Enaste’s voice was sharp as she trembled. Varaina was shocking half the line behind the ones locked in Winter’s Grasp, but neither of them could hold out.

A barrel slammed in the middle of the frozen ones. Adhlea whistled. Syven dropped the ale he held and ran back to relative safety. Adhlea targeted the frozen ale. It exploded. Adhlea forced a literal line of blazing fire.

Lastly, the mage took a bottle of Antivan fire – her final bottle – and threw it at the trebuchet.

The resulting explosion was remarkably violent, blowing the three mages holding back the fucking legions of red templars at bay far back.

“Holy shit, Boss!” the Iron Bull laughed breathlessly. “Fucking _brilliant!_ Might’ve been better than gaatlok!”

“Inside!” Adhlea shouted. Her people agreed, Yenera grinning as Cullen ushered her in without attitude. Adhlea helped slam the doors closed. Haven was on fire. Adhlea heard someone yelling from a burning house; she climbed a nearby ladder, jumping into it. The smoke assaulted her eyes, but she kicked the door. It swung open, weakened by the fire. The man inside ran out. Yenera appeared, holding a smoldering guy named Adan Adhlea barely knew and a sobbing Minaeve.

“Cullen!” Cullen appeared.

“Yes, Her –“

“Get Yenera into the fucking Chantry! She’s got injured!”

Cullen didn’t even give her a reproachful look as he took in the two injured. Yenera wasn’t smiling any more.

Adhlea followed, helping Threnn, the requisitions master; she thanked her lucky stars she’d ordered Dennet to take the horses to a safe place.

Inside the Chantry at last, Adhlea, her siblings, Enaste, and Solas all took a breather. The Chantry shuddered.

“This place won’t last long,” Cullen panted. “We can’t flee with all the wounded; nor with the wall of fire at the gate.” He threw Adhlea a small glare. Adhlea arched a glare.

“You should thank me, considering we all were about to be overrun with templars.”

“He’s after you.” Adhlea spotted the boy from earlier. He stood from his spot. “He knows a way out,” the boy said, looking at Cullen before looking once more at Adhlea. “He wants you. He’s so, so very angry.” The boy looked down. “Everyone’s angry and scared.”

Adhlea clenched her fist. “Roderick.” The father looked over at her. He was dying. Adhlea closed her eyes and sighed. “Tell Cullen of the way out. I’ll personally distract the giant-ass dragon.”

“Adhlea, you –“ Syven started.

“You _can’t-“_ Enaste gasped.

Adhlea raised her hand against her clansmen’s objections, silencing them before they could speak more. She stared at Cullen.

“I’ve nearly died so many times,” she said, her voice soft. “If it’s time, it’s time. I’m not going to waste time offering shit words of _oh, I’m going to die,_ because if I _don’t_ then they’ll be for naught. I’d rather say something when I _know_ I’m going to die.” She turned and smiled at her brother. “If I do, everything goes to Varaina.”

Syven’s jaw dropped. “ _I’m your brother!”_ he shrieked, undignified.

“And she actually _knows_ that she can’t act like a Dalish elf in the Court, she isn’t one,” Adhlea remarked, dryly. “Besides, _isa’ma’lin,_ you’ll know if I die.”

She stepped to the door, past them.

“I misjudged you.” Roderick’s voice wheezed. “You might not be a Herald of Andraste… But you herald something great is coming.”

Adhlea turned, a slight smile on her face.

“And I suppose I misjudged _you,”_ she replied, nodding at him. “Now, go, Cullen. I’ll distract the dragon. Light a flare when everyone’s clear.”


	39. Chapter 39

“She’s so scared.” Cole watched the door slam shut. “She’s terrified that she’s going to fail. He’s wrong, he won’t be killed by her.” Cole turned to Solas, tilting his head. “She’s strong, she won’t die.”

Unlike most, Cole realized after listening, this man was not _quite_ a man. Cole heard only whispers of ancient pains; hundreds of ancient pains that touched each other even now. Solas felt sorrow for the one who just left, yet seemed against helping her. No, Solas wasn’t his name – Solas _was_ but _wasn’t_ – he stopped as the elf shook his head. The whispers stopped.

 _I don’t want her to die!_ The woman next to the man, both of them with hair that, on this night, reminded everyone of fire and dragons, had her hands on her mouth. The man next to her simply took her and set his mouth, privately thinking along similar lines.

Contrarily, the one with hair the shade of wet dirt simply prayed to Mythal.

(Cole knew a woman who had gone by that name; it wasn’t pertinent, nor did he think she could hear the prayers of those who dedicated themselves to her.)

“She won’t,” Solas said, quietly.

Cole stood. “I want to help,” he said, staring at Solas.

Solas smiled at him. Cole knew that he knew what Cole was.

“And help you have,” Solas affirmed.

~:~

She panted as the dragon landed on the dirt, heavily and angrily. Lyrium grew out of it in patches. The dragon snorted, its menacing eyes –

Wait. Wait just a fucking _minute._

“I see you’ve met my pet.”

Adhlea scrambled backwards as _Corypheus_ descended from the sky, hovering in the air. It looked _effortless._ She was suddenly tripped as the dragon’s tail slammed behind her legs. She fell on the ground, the back of her legs stinging.

_Please, Creators, do NOT LET ME GET INFECTED WITH THE BLIGHT, PLEASE –_

“You recognize it, do you not?” Corypheus was fucking _gloating._ “I am Corypheus; you will bow beneath me, mortal fleshling. I have seen the seat of the Maker, and it was empty. This dragon was once an archdemon –“

_Doshiel is going to fucking scream._

“Unfortunately, the blight cannot be passed down from my archdemon.” Corypheus smiled. It was not a good sight to see. “Now, let me have my Anchor, girl.”

He raised the orb. Her body jerked through the air, her arm sailing into his grasp. It sparked violently.

She whimpered in pain without intending to.

“You’ve _spoiled it!”_ He threw her to the side, next to the trebuchet. Adhlea grabbed the nearest weapon she could fi –

_FUCK_

It was a Creators-damned _sword._ Adhlea bit her lip as she pointed it at Corypheus – and a flare behind Corypheus shone.

“Well, Corypheus.” She was amazed her voice was so steady. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut our meeting short!”

He frowned at her, turned –

Adhlea flung the sword at the dragon, turned to the trebuchet and kicked it before running. The trebuchet fired, Adhlea having winched it before he’d arrived.

The ball of stone slammed into the mountain.

An avalanche rumbled. Adhlea dived into the hole just as snow slammed into Haven.

Snow buried her.

~:~

Cole stayed behind, knowing Solas had need of him.

“Lead her out,” Solas whispered. “Bring her to us. The Anchor cannot fade.”

Cole tilted his head. “You mean she. She cannot fade. You do not want to fail her again.”

Solas blanched. “The _Anchor,”_ he said.

 _He’s lying._ Cole nodded to himself and Solas.

He wanted to help. He could help Solas, and her, too.

Because in Solas’ mind, he kept thinking of her name before calling her _the Anchor._ He was trying to distance himself from her.

Would it be helpful to _make_ him think her name? _No,_ Cole thought before leaving. As a spirit, he could change his shape. It _would_ be helpful for the girl to not die. She would not really recognize him in this form, so Compassion took the form he needed to.

~:~

When Syven sent the flare into the sky, he kept his eyes on the mountain. His heart pounded as there seemed to be a streak across the sky – and then a rumble from below and above, a rumble that caused his heart to break as he saw snow pour from the mountain.

“Adhlea!” He made to go back, to find her. To dig through the snow. He couldn’t leave her there.

His waist was caught.

“Let me go, you Tevinter bastard!” Syven fought the hold of the Tevene mage.

“I’m not sure your sister would like you to kill yourself!” the Tevene mage grunted.

“Yeah, and you’d know all about her, right?” Syven kicked his leg back, but missed the guy’s spot.

“Shit!” Syven was moved in another direction. “I’m certain your sister’s fine, she did survive three holy smites after all!”

She did…

Syven stopped before reaching inside his jacket.

“Her phylactery!”

“She’s a blood mage?” The arms around his waist recoiled.

“Not on _purpose_ ,” Syven answered, distractedly. The phylactery pulsed, the glow fading and returning dimmer. “You’re a fire mage, right?”

“Yes, why –“ Syven shoved his sister’s life at him.

“Warm it,” he said, crisply. “Make sure she doesn’t die.” Varaina glared at him. Syven gritted his teeth. “Please,” he said through his clenched teeth.

“Should I just light my hands on fire, or –“

“ _No_!” Syven snatched the vial out of his hands. “Don’t worry, sis, we’ll keep you alive.”

He rubbed the fingerprints off the glass.

“Now,” Syven said, starting to walk after the rest of the group, “I’ll teach you how to warm someone up using only a phylactery.”

~:~

Varaina inhaled and exhaled at the forward camp. They’d just gotten back from the pass; Cullen said he’d go back and see if Adhlea was at the pass at all.

She pulled her legs up to her chest.

“Rough night?”

Varaina turned to the voice absently. A stretcher laid on the ground, a young elven woman laying there.

“I’m Minaeve,” the elf said. “I’m the creature researcher.”

“Varaina,” Varaina awkwardly replied. “The… Herald’s sister.”

“Well, you two do look similar.” Minaeve winced. “Sorry, not feeling great. Burned,” the elf informed Varaina. “What about you?”

“Oh, well… My sister might die and I’m as useless here as I was in Kirkwall,” Varaina… _lightly_ said.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Minaeve said after another pause. “The Herald’s pretty tough. Wouldn’t be surprised if she appeared soon.”

“How soon is soon?” Varaina asked, softly.

“However soon she comes,” Minaeve shrugged before letting out a short yell. “Fuck, I forgot about my burns!”

Varaina poked at the snow. “Would snow down your shirt help?”

Minaeve glanced at her.

“I don’t know, how about we try it? Anything’s got to better than this.”

Varaina gently moved her to on her side.


	40. Chapter 40

Cullen sighed as he moved to the pass. Nothing; no sign she’d come this far.

He opened his mouth, ready to turn to his men and order them back, when he saw something at the edge of his vision.

Something flickered, green motes of magic similar to the Herald’s glowing hand. Cullen struggled up the slope with his heavy armor, yelling as he saw her, staring down at the army with despair etched on her face. She was on her knees.

“It’s her! It’s the Herald!” he shouted. “She’s alive!” Her eyes met his, glazed meeting his own. Cullen darted forward, dropping his torch and leaving it to sputter in the snow. “Herald, you can’t fall asleep –“

“I hate snow,” the Herald said, before collapsing in his arms. Cullen hauled her up, her dead weight easy to carry.

“She’s alive, but she’s cold. We must hurry so that she does not die!” Cullen was immediately followed by his fellow torch-wielders. He took the most direct way through the camps – meaning he shouted at all the members currently there to _get the fuck out of the way._

They got out of the way, whispers meeting his ears. He barreled through them, hearing the murmurs start overpassing them.

The forward camp in sight, he yelled. “Prep a medical tent!”

Almost instantly, one was up.

“Blankets!” He set her down. Her lips were turning blue. Cullen was not a medicine man, but he did assume that it wasn’t a good sign.

~:~

Adhlea didn’t know how she got out into the snowy hell. She could barely move her legs. Every so often she’d fall.

Was this… Was this her punishment, this snow? Was Syven thinking she was dead? She could only think so much before her thoughts consisted of _coldcoldcold._

She fell again. This time, she actually felt some warmth.

_Is this bad? I feel like I should be worried._

Something crunched in the snow. A low whine.

 _Move, felasil,_ her inner Syven barked. _Or else you’ll be last._

_Last for what?_

_For dinner, felasil!_

_Syven!_ Keeper’s voice was an admonishment. _Insulting your sister is bad!_

 _But she’s being one!_ A phantom pain in her ear.

 _That’s… a memory._ She turned over, her eyes staring at the sky. A face moved over hers. Six eyes stared down at her. _I feel like… That’s supposed to be bad._ A tongue licked her face. _Ew, that’s gross._

Somehow, she got up. The wolf was nowhere in sight. There were no wolf-steps. The Dalish elf stumbled forward.

 _Are you going to give up?_ Another memory. She must be dying. Somehow, that wasn’t too concerning. _If you run from him, then you give up any chance you would have at helping the People, and I will not accept failure, da’len._

She… she’d wanted to leave Gaspard, maybe convince Deshanna to run from Wycome. She remembered yelling at Deshanna and Deshanna not talking to her for the rest of the week. Then Adhlea had apologized; Deshanna had smiled at her warmly.

Hawke and Fenris. It was clear Fenris liked Hawke romantically; and it was clear Varaina had hurt him. Adhlea had never asked. Never in Fenris’ letters had he mentioned it. She had to help them. Maybe he couldn’t completely forgive Varaina, but he could let go of his hatred for her. Maybe.

Adhlea fell. Warm fur caught her.

 _Keep going,_ she told herself. She clawed at the ground, forcing herself to get up and kept going.

Her legs ached. She just wanted to _stop._

She collapsed next to a firepit, embers smoldering.

 _It’s still warm._ She saw the pass. _I hate snow. I cannot believe it always fucking snows even in the middle of fucking summer here._ Wherever ‘here’ was. Hours-days-weeks- _months_ could be passing for all that she was aware, her vision darkening and lightening intermittently.

She got up once more. She looked behind her. Bloody footprints marked her passage.

 _Huh._ She turned forward. _I haven’t even felt my feet in hours… Has it only been hours? How long has it been?_

Fur brushed the backs of her legs. _Keep going,_ the wolf seemed to insist.

She started walking again. Wind bit and clawed, making her go almost parallel to the ground.

She made it to the edge of the pass. They were below her. Hundreds of people were walking, carrying lit torches.

This time, when she collapsed, it was of despair. She’d never make it, wolf or not; they were going too fast and nobody would search -

“It’s her!” Was that Cullen? “It’s the Herald!”

Why did he sound so surprised?

He watched him come up to her dully, muttering something too muffled for her to hear.

“I hate snow,” she said, before her vision darkened one final time.

~:~

Solas’ head was bent at the forward camp. Cole had returned not long before, the spirit helping ease others’ pain. He did not speak of whether or not Ker _– the Herald_ – was safe.

He assumed the woman was long dead. And with it, everything. He resigned himself to running again, as he had once before.

No sooner than he thought that did something happen.

“No way –“

“ _Impossible!”_

“Fucking _shite, there’s no Maker-fucking way –“_

“Prep a medical tent!” Cullen’s orders drew attention as all eyes turned to see the Herald, in all her unconscious, half-dead-looking glory. Not a pleasant sight.

Quickly, the Herald was given a tent; Solas came to her. Elfroot, healing, and – sadly for her, in this case she could technically not object – lyrium potions were all forced into her body. Furs were piled on top of her; Solas worked to make sure she didn’t die for a second time. Cassandra was glaring at him again and fingering her sword. This time, though, it was because the smaller elf seemed to bring out slightly maternal feelings in the Seeker.

(If the Seeker had a maternal bone in her body, anyway.)

By the time he finished, he had a half-formed plan in his mind; when he got the all-clear, he crashed in his own tent, slipping into the Fade and finding her easily.

It was easy because the young spirit had her dreaming of a wolf – six eyes, flashes of fur –

He took the role of Fen’Harel.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm ninety percent sure Fen'Harel's OOC here. Probably. 
> 
> If you like it, please comment. :D

Adhlea was not awake. She could feel that much. Like she hovered in some sort of murky mist, just hanging there and unable to see.

Six eyes and fur kept her there, as though trapping her.

Then she wasn’t there. She was elsewhere. She was sitting on the edge of a mountain overlooking a castle. She had only one thing to say.

“I hate snow.”

Someone was next to her. She didn’t look; she had a feeling of who he was.

“I can lead you to this place,” an impossibly smooth voice whispered, their voice echoing and impossible to pinpoint gender; Adhlea assumed that either meant Fen’Harel was fucking with her or he was someone she knew. Considering the only elves she knew of were certainly _not_ Fen’Harel, she concluded the Dread Wolf was fucking with her. “You need only ask.”

“What does it cost?” She didn’t care about insulting him. Keeper Deshanna always said be nice if the Dread Wolf came; but considering Adhlea highly doubted Keeper Deshanna thought the Dread Wolf would come to one of them (it wasn’t like he ever appeared to elves. The stories always spoke of humans being fucked over by him), Adhlea thought cutting to the quick was a good idea here.

Actually, Adhlea was tired. So tired, even in this dream, she didn’t even know if her reasoning made sense.

“Did I say a price?”

“Nothing comes free.”

“Then I suppose the price is easy. Fix it up. Make it better. Don’t send an avalanche on it.”

He sounded exasperated, as though an avalanche would be rather inconvenient for him.

Adhlea hummed, noncommittedly.

“Did you help me when I asked for help?”

The Dread Wolf was silent for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“A little less than ten years ago. Did you give me the creature summoning?”

“And if I did? It saved your life.”

“I’m not ungrateful. But this would mean I still owe you one.” She frowned. “Actually, two. If you led me through the snow.”

“ _That_ was not I. I did request help for that one.” He was silent once more. “I do not require you to owe me.”

“I do not like it when I owe people,” Adhlea murmured, closing her eyes.

The Dread Wolf was silent. “Then,” he said, “offer that spirit in your company a place. That is what you’ll owe me, _da’len.”_

She sighed. “That’s a small thing,” she said, burying her head in her knees. “I’ll take the place you offer.”

“Good.”

The Dread Wolf vanished.

Adhlea blinked, her gaze instantly burning into the ceiling of the medical tent. She turned her head to arguing voices, thinking maybe she should help. She moved her feet –

“Adding another heated voice will not help, Herald.” Mother Giselle, looking exhausted and tired, offered Adhlea a small smile. “In fact, all it would do would make it far worse.”

Adhlea accepted the Mother’s words at face value.

“They’re in awe of you,” Giselle murmured to her once more sitting on her bed. “They know death is final, Herald. Yet, now, they’ve seen you shake off death twice.”

“I never died.” Adhlea mustered up the strength to look Giselle in the eyes.

“No,” Giselle agreed. “Walking through the Fade and surviving an avalanche is no unremarkable feat, child. Even the rumors of what happened in Val Royeaux have spread far and wide. Taking three Holy Smites is no small feat; and with the Revered Mother Hevara on your side, you have no shortage of believers. They need this faith.”

Adhlea stared at her with wide eyes. “I’m not – I’m not Andraste. I’m not her Herald.”

“The Inquisition must survive,” Giselle pressed.

Adhlea stood, nearly toppling over. At the edge of the camp, she could see her friends – even Vivienne – sitting on a series of logs, speaking lowly to each other.

“Faith has had its time, Mother Giselle. Now is the time to move forward. We need action, not words.” She turned, wanting to walk away; she was stilled by the faces of awe looking at her. She was awake, she was _standing._

“Praise be to the Maker!” a city elf knelt.

Others looked away as Adhlea tried to walk away.

Mother Giselle started to _sing._ It formed a horrible ball in her chest, a ball of anxiety as they sang to _her._ As they _knelt_ to her, with reverent eyes.

She saw Solas watching her, before walking away; his face was blank, as though he did not know what to thnk.

As soon as they let her, Adhlea followed him, trying to get away. She watched him wave his hand, Veilfire springing in a weirdly-placed torch.

“It’s rare, if not never, that they raise one of us so high,” Solas spoke when she was behind him. She stepped up beside him. “I was very worried for you, Kerrah.”

She hesitated. “Solas, in my clan, one can choose to change their names. I’d like for you to choose something other than Kerrah.” She looked down. “It was something my mother gave me; Syven chose to keep his and have Galifalon as the name people outside of the clan know him as.”

Solas stared at her. “You would like _me_ to choose, and not him?”

Adhlea shrugged. “Kerrah does not suit me.” She looked out, staring at the ground. “I feel like a Keeper,” she said, muttering. She didn’t mean for him to hear her.

“If you would like me to,” he said, “then I shall choose one. When we get settled into wherever the Inquisition goes, then I shall give you a name.”

She beamed at him. “Thank you.” She hugged him – then hastily removed her body from him. He looked startled, but not displeased. “Oh, speaking of places, I got a dream message from… Well. You might call me stupid, but it was from Fen’Harel.”

He looked even more surprised. “Is he not the Dread Wolf of your mythology?”

“Yes, but… I don’t know. He wasn’t like I thought he’d be.” She frowned for a moment. “Still, he showed me a place in the Fade. A place where the Inquisition can learn and grow. Of course, it would need fixed up, he said; but that was the condition he gave in order for me to have it.”

Solas’ expression was bewildered. “That does not truly sound like a Dread Wolf and more of a mischievous spirit.”

Adhlea shrugged. “We have nowhere else to go. If he lied and showed me something nonexistent, we’ll still have an idea of what we need.”

He nodded. “You have a point.”

Adhlea nodded. Something urged her to try it now. She waved her hand in a similar fashion to Solas; the Veifire sputtered to life in her palm.

She did not look at him. “While I dreamed, I could feel this.” She turned to look at Solas, closing her hand and catching the faint pride on his face that he’d aimed at her. “Solas, when we settle in the place Fen’Harel showed me, if you are willing to show me, I would love to learn more magic from you.”

“I would be honored to teach you,” he replied. “And… I would not mind bringing you into the Fade, showing you what can be done in there.”

“If you are there, I’m certain I’d love it,” Adhlea said, feeling like her face was burning. She was just _happy._ Happy that Solas was proud, yes. That was it. No other reason.

“ _ASA’MA’LIN!”_

She was shoved to the ground. She found herself laughing as Syven clutched onto her with a death-grip.

“Please be careful,” Solas said, his mellow voice somehow meeting her ears over her laughter. “I _did_ just bring her back from the brink of death.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Enaste batted her eyes at Solas. “You from around here?” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. She was flirting. With _Solas._

Adhlea snorted as Solas’ faintly amused expression went flat.

“No,” he said, walking away.

“Oh, don’t leave!” Enaste followed him back into camp. They could hear her pestering Solas with blatant innuendos.

Varaina cleared her throat.

“Unless you want Solas to have to heal her again, then you really _should_ get up,” she advised Syven.

Syven groaned, but got up, lugging Adhlea up.

“Adhlea Ker –“

“Kerrah no longer suits me,” Adhlea said, touching her brother’s face. “I’m awaiting Solas’ choice.”

Syven’s eyes widened for a brief moment. Then he snorted.

“I bet he’ll pick something like Mirwen,” he teased.

“I’d like anything but ‘Kerrah’ at this point.” She folded her arms. “My husband will need to be notified… Eh. That can wait.”

“I sent a letter to Keeper Deshanna. She helped with the Breach, so I figured she should know you’re not dead yet.” Adhlea turned to stare at him. He seemed to find the snow extremely fascinating.

“My _dear_ brother.” Adhlea kept smiling. “Were you, by any chance, _at the closing of the Breach when I explicitly told you to watch Varaina and make sure nothing attacked the chateau?”_

Syven raised his hands in defense. “Vivienne had the chateau taken care of! Everyone was leaving. By the Void, most of the servants there are waiting for you to call them to the place we’re headed. We don’t have a place yet, but –“

Adhlea started back to the tents, casting a brief glance at the torch. She took a trembling breath, hoping she could do this – she focused, raising her hand and forcing it to extinguish.

With a sputter, the flames died. She kept walking, oblivious of her brother’s wide eyes.

“We do have a place,” she said, refuting his statement. “We have the place someone told me about.”

She strode directly to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen.

“We can’t go to Orlais, that’s insanity no matter what the rumors are,” Josephine was saying. “And we’re _not_ going to Tevinter. That’s idiocy.”

“We should –“ started Leliana, only to jump as Adhlea slammed a dagger into the table – rather unnecessary, but it made them shut up.

“We’re going there,” she said, calmly. “We’re going to a sacred elvhen space.” She withdrew her dagger. “I have been shown the way. If you trust me, even a _little.”_ She met Leliana’s eyes with a courage she was trying to muster. “You will follow. I leave at dawn.”

She turned away.


	42. Chapter 42

“What a shithole.”

Sera wasn’t wrong, though Syven dearly wished she hadn’t said it aloud.

“We’ll get it up in no time,” Josephine said, eyebrows high. “Who… _Exactly_ lived here before?”

“It is _Tarasyl’an Te’las_ _,_ ” Solas murmured. “The place where the sky was held back.”

Syven went mute in astonishment. _This…_ ruined pile of bricks and stones was the fabled place where the Dread Wolf brought the Veil up? It was… underwhelming. When Deshanna had spoken of it, she’d spoken of a massive, beautiful place where the Veil had been erected. Not… Not _this_ pile of rubble and dust.

“I suppose it wasn’t just a mischievous spirit after all, Solas.” His sister smirked. “I’ve got a promise to keep, now!”

Syven turned to her. “Sister, who told –“

_A mischievous spirit…_

“ _Asa’ma’lin, you did not get this place from **Fen’Harel!”**_ He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Please tell me it isn’t so!”

“Er… yes,” she said, looking mildly sheepish. “What?” she defended herself. “If you truly believed the stories, then believe he _literally_ just asked me to make it better.” She paused. “And, well. Not to drop another avalanche on it.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he said with a roll of his eyes, flicking her ear. She glared at him, rubbing the end.

“Good news!” A scout appeared. “It’s habitable! Most of the lower levels are intact, and there’s supplies to repair it temporarily; not for long, so I’ll be sending out some missives to requisition supplies, if that’s okay with you, Herald?”

The scout looked to Adhlea in askance. Syven’s brow rose.

Adhlea looked bewildered, yet she still nodded.

“Good. We all need a bit of rest.” Leliana strode forward – only to stop. Skyhold suddenly seemed to grow colder; hostile.

“Enchantments,” Adhlea suggested, wary. “It might be the one invited to live here must go forth.”

Leliana gestured her forward.

“Then by all means,” the human said, rather dryly.

Adhlea stepped forward. Syven followed her.

And for the first time in a _long_ time, elves stepped into Skyhold.

~:~

Adhlea could not explain it, really; something about the place just seemed… _Warm,_ as though it was greeting her.

Dust and dirt were the things that greeted them. Adhlea spent much of the first day helping clear grass and rubble from the dirt. The second was setting up a makeshift hospital inside the grounds.

It was there she found Cole, Cassandra holding him at swordpoint. Dusk had fallen and Adhlea had intended to show Cassandra to the new War Room Josephine had claimed.

“What’s going on?” Adhlea stared between the spirit and Cassandra.

“He’s a _demon,”_ the warrior spat.

“I’m pretty sure he isn’t,” Adhlea said, voice dry. “Considering most demons are warped versions of spirits, I highly doubt Cole is a demon. Perhaps he is a _spirit_ of some kind.” She flicked a glance to the boy, whose blue eyes were staring at her in an unfamiliar manner. “You _are_ a spirit, right?”

“I don’t know. I just want to help,” the boy said, softly. “There’s a man. He’s in agony. He’s not going to make it, yet the healer won’t stop no matter how painful the cries; he doesn’t want to hear the screams.”

“Tell her how you _help,”_ Cassandra ordered, pressing her blade further.

“Only by making them not hurt anymore.” Cole moved from Cassandra’s blade, seemingly uncaring of the threat it posed. “Can I help this man?” Adhlea met his eyes again, clear blue and not human at all.

“Go ahead,” she said after taking a moment to glance at the Inquisition soldier that could not be saved.

The boy helped.

Adhlea felt like something brushed against her mind, but she only offered the spirit a smile.

“Thank you,” she said, for the soldier who could not say it.

The spirit’s eyes widened for an unknown reason. Adhlea turned away.

~:~

“She can see me.”

Solas looked at the spirit boy, who seemed upset.

“Who can?”

“The fire-elf,” Cole replied. “She could see me, she _remembered_ when I tried to make her forget. I made the other one forget, but I could not make her forget.”

 _Adhlea did not forget him?_ Solas pressed his lips together, thinking. _Perhaps it is because her presence in the Fade is similar to those of ancient Elvhenan. Or perhaps the wards?_

“Wait, why did you call her a fire-elf?” Solas was distracted by the more surprising words of the spirit.

Cole tilted his head. “Because that is what she is,” the spirit replied, looking puzzled. “She is the fire-elf. She burns very brightly.”

_So even a spirit could feel it._

“I… will try to see what makes it hard for you to make her forget.” Solas would rather not mess with the mind, but if he had to he would. Messing with the mind led to trauma later. He’d seen it in Arlathan.

Cole nodded before vanishing. Solas would have to think for a while.


	43. Inquisitor Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Lavellan appears. A plan is set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you might've noticed I actually put a chapter description. Well... please don't get used to it. Probably only will happen on the really important chapters. Hope you like, and I hope to see comments about this chapter!

Adhlea got up about a week later, intending on going to eat and going through more of those many letters Leliana was making her go through just because letters had to go out and come back. Adhlea was planning on tackling the ones from Empress Celene and King Alistair.

Skyhold’s repairs were about halfway to the halfway point; temporary fixtures were being made and camps were set up in the valley below the ancient fortress.

She slipped into the mess hall, people murmuring ‘Herald’ as she passed them. She nodded back to them as she collected the meal everyone ate. She called it sludge. Syven called it shit. Enaste told them both to _shut the fuck up and eat what you’re given_ with her thumb and middle finger poised to flick their ears, all with a smile on her face.

She walked to her table – everyone had long since accepted the Herald’s Inner Circle would probably eat at the only circular table in the back – most of her friends present. Vivienne had, surprisingly, gotten to Skyhold the previous day with half the chateau’s servants.

( _Why, my dear,_ Vivienne had smirked. _I hear things quickly._ )

Vivienne was probably having a four-course meal in her rooms. Adhlea sat down with her ‘food’, her clattering waking up a snoozing Dorian.

“Morning, sunshine!” she greeted him with a smirk.

He opened an eye balefully. “How you elves are such morning people, I’ll never know,” the man groaned.

“We have to get up early every morning,” Enaste yawned.

“You didn’t,” Syven said with a smirk. “You were the laziest of all.”

Enaste eyed him. “You _do_ realize I’ve learned shapeshifter magic, right? I could transform and destroy Skyhold.”

“You could, but if you do I’ll make you bald,” Adhlea said pleasantly. “Because I made a deal and I will uphold that.”

Enaste turned her lazy eyes onto Adhlea. “You made a deal with the Dread Wolf. There might be cataclysmic consequences.”

Adhlea nodded. “Consequences I’ll pay, if it comes to that,” she said, quiet.

“Mm.”

The Iron Bull appeared, two bowls of slud – _food_ in his hands. “Budge up there, ‘Vint,” he grumbled. “The fuck did that redhead spy want? Ugh, it’s too early for this shit.”

He dug into the… _food_ with gusto as soon as he sat down.

“Leliana sent a message to you?” Adhlea pushed her spoon into the sludge before taking it out. It clung to her spoon. She lost her appetite. She dropped the spoon back into the sludge.

“Yeah, something about you needing to see her after you’re done eating.” Syven frowned. “She said that it’d make sense after we showed you to the courtyard. Some thing for the Herald or some shit.” Syven pushed his bowl aside, making a face. “Still, let’s hurry. I think I’d rather go check and see if Leliana’s ravens brought anything from the clan back.”

“Maybe.” Adhlea shrugged and stood. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Mornings suck,” Dorian moaned.

“Poor baby, want me to wake you up?” Syven leaned up and _licked his face._

“WHAT THE _FUCK?!”_ Dorian jumped up, now wide-awake; Adhlea hid a smile at Dorian’s suddenly red face as he scraped his fingers on the spot where Syven licked.

“Aw, damn, and here I thought we’d _had_ something, Dorian! Licking’s a no-no?” Syven couldn’t conceal a grin as Dorian smiled darkly.

“Would you like a few _fireballs_ to show you we _have something?”_

“Tease!” Adhlea rolled her eyes.

“Wait up! I want to see what they have planned!” Varaina was _smirking._

“You _know,”_ Adhlea groaned.

“I’ve been helping go through mail,” Varaina smirked. “With Josie. Day before yesterday, they held a small War Room debate that I _happened_ to be there for. Let’s just say the vote was unanimous.”

“’Raina. Don’t go spoiling it,” Dorian said. “The lovely young lady deserves _some_ happy surprises.”

“Does _everyone_ know?” Adhlea turned to eye everyone sitting around the table.

“Probably not Solas,” the Iron Bull said, standing. “He’s not left the library he found.”

Adhlea rolled her eyes. “I didn’t expect much of him. He’s done so much for the Inquisition already.”

They left the pretty much deserted mess, people hurrying up and out.

“Seriously? What’s the big deal?” Adhlea stepped out of the mess, seeing Cassandra waiting for her.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” she demanded of the rest.

“No,” came a thorough unison.

“Good.” Cassandra looked grudgingly pleased. “Come now, Herald. I have a question to pose to you.” Adhlea walked with her towards the many steps that led to the main keep. “You see, all this time, we, as the Inquisition, have been leaderless… Or so it seems.” They started up the steps. “The Inquisition needs a leader: one who has already been leading it.” Leliana stood at the first level to the keep, holding a giant, ancient-looking sword.

“This sword was held by the First Inquisitor, Ameridan.” Oh, _that_ person she’d heard of. “It is traditionally passed down from Inquisitor to inquisitor.” Adhlea arched a brow. Leliana flushed. “If there _had_ been an Inquisitor after him. The point is there, however.” Leliana gestured over her shoulder. The people down on the ground looked up, watching the three of them on the first landing – even Solas was watching, leaning against the wall in the very back. “We want _you.”_

“But…” _But I’m not your chosen one. I already have a title! I don’t want another one._ “But I’m not human.”

And that, in itself, was a fact no-one alive knew. Was Ameridan human? Or was Ameridan an elf?

“You’re offering this to an _elf._ Is that what you truly want to do?” What she really wanted to ask was, _Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?_

Leliana shrugged. “As Herald, you showed us not only your true colors, but to what ends you would go. You fought, you killed, you picked herbs and you brought back materials. You closed rifts, you gained allies – you even fought an Avvar. None of these accomplishments can be ignored.” She took a deep breath. “You brought together templars and mages alike, united to close the Breach. This world _needs_ you – not just for your diplomacy skills, not just for your fighting skills or your strength. Humans need to be reminded, sometimes, that being _human_ is not something to be particularly proud of.” Leliana smiled.

“I, personally, would be terrified of handing this power to anyone,” Cassandra admitted. “But I believe it is the only way.”

She tried to come up with another reason. “But I’m a mage! No person in Thedas is going to stand for a mage being _Inquisitor.”_

“You are a mage,” Leliana agreed. “But you do not have Circle training. You have proved that, without a doubt, mages do not need a Circle to exist. Once you’ve been appointed, we’ll discuss that at length.”

“Falon’Din’s bones, I’m not really given a choice, huh?”

“The other choices were an Adaar with a penchant for vile jokes or a noble woman with a habit of drunk-flashing everyone,” Leliana said, her voice dry. Adhlea winced. Yenera and Elaine were indeed quite… Odd, sometimes. And that was coming from a Dalish mage with a penchant for threatening to burn people.

“Fine.” Leliana handed her the sword. “I will be an ambassador to world; I will lead the fight against Corypheus. I will set an example – both as a mage _and_ an elf.”

Leliana nodded, then turned to the people below.

“Commander! Have they been told?”

Cullen nodded. “Yes!”

“And will they follow?” Cassandra demanded.

“Will you follow?” Cullen’s shout reached Adhlea’s ears. She looked to Solas, who offered her a slight nod and a tilt of the head. She could not understand why his opinion mattered to her; perhaps it was just because he was her _hahren._

“Yes!” the people below shouted, elf and human alike.

“Raise the sword,” Cassandra hissed.

“The Inquisitor Lavellan!”

She burned with pride. They did not use her duchess name.

A smile curled along her lips.

“The Inquisition is for _all,”_ Adhlea emphasized when she could put down the damn sword. “Except, you know. Empress Celene and most Orlesian nobility.”

Both of them looked scandalized, even though she’d said it low.

She snickered at their faces.

“Now, Inquisitor. I’ve got a missive from Tevinter for you to see.” Leliana took her arm and guided her into the War Room. “It’s addressed to you. It’s… Actually, it’s partially what sparked the unanimous decision.”

“I tried to find out where Hawke went,” Cassandra said with her usual scowl. “Not that I don’t trust you, but Hawke _is_ the Champion of Kirkwall. All my letters were returned. Unopened.”

“I get it. Hawke _did_ have a lot to do with the mage rebellion. But,” Adhlea said, turning to her. “You should know Hawke really isn’t into fighting the same fucker she fought. I get letters from my brother, who happens to be her lover.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened before she rolled her eyes.

“Of course she is. Let me guess, you’re also in contact with the Warden.”

“Yes, I am. In fact, she lives with King Alistair. She’s not going to be pleased that Corypheus brought that damn archdemon that was a dragon back to life that she fought _and_ killed.”

She glanced to see Cassandra looking horrified.

“Should we prepare for a sixth –“ she began, only to stop as Adhlea shook her head.

“Was I blighted?”

Cassandra blanched. “No, but – Maker’s breath, you’re telling me the blighted thing _touched_ you?”

“Knocked me on my ass in Haven.” Adhlea motioned to her still-healing legs. “Shall we sit? My feet are still a bit tender after I walked through miles in the snow without shoes.”

Leliana winced at the mention of that. “Right. We shall.”

Chairs were dragged into the War Room. Adhlea sank into hers gratefully.

“Here’s the notice from Tevinter.” Josephine appeared, setting the letter down.

Adhlea noted the name on it.

_Inquisitor Lavellan_

She opened the expensive parchment.

_Inquisitor,_

_We hereby request your presence at the Magisterium. You may bring whomever you wish. We must discuss, at great length, the punishment that is to be given to Magister Gereon Alexius. As such, we also request his presence._

_The Archon_

“We’re not moving that _man,”_ Adhlea said, gritting her teeth. Alexius had been dumped – at the first opportunity – in the dungeons.

“No.” Leliana shook her head. “However, the Magisterium will not cease and desist. However, _you_ showing up there will cause an uprising, unless you’ve some ideas.”

Josephine brightened. “We could always hide the ears,” she suggested. “We truly don’t wish to cause a revolt.”

“No, we do not, but the truth will reach the ears of the Magisterium eventually.” Adhlea _did_ have an idea. “I have a terrible idea.” She placed her forefinger on her chin in a thinking position, her thumb touching it. “If Vivienne ransacked my cabin in Haven, I have the _worst_ idea in the history of ideas.” She swallowed. “Because nobody knows Vivienne’s surname. Dorian did not recognize my surname, so if he _just_ met me in the Imperium, he wouldn’t think Vivienne wasn’t just _given_ my surname.”

Josephine bit her lip. “We can’t _lie –“_

Adhlea held up a finger at the ambassador. “That’s the thing, Josie – would you mind if I called you that?” Josephine shook her head with a smile. “Okay. Josie. The Game.” Josie was starting to get it. Leliana was smirking. Elaine snorted.

“I don’t get it,” Cullen said, sounding hopelessly lost.

“Misdirection,” Leliana said, still smirking that unsettling smirk.

“Basically, if Vivienne marched in, they’d all assume _she_ was the Inquisitor,” Elaine said with a nasty smile. “Meanwhile, all the Inquisitor has to do is stand there – and if she’s masked, maybe with whatever she’s talking about, and answer when addressed as Inquisitor. If they’re asked directly they could not lie, but they _could_ stretch the truth. However, the Inquisitor _will_ have to reveal herself IF they demand that of her. So, technically speaking…”

“That’s… the _worst_ plan ever. What if they clap her in chains and drag her off?” Cullen’s eyes were wide.

“Duchess!” Adhlea indictated herself. “Creators, Commander. One might think you’d forgotten. The Inquisitor Lavellan might be shit-deep in trouble, but they _cannot_ touch the Empress’ cousin-in-law without _potentially_ risking a war.”

“Damn,” Cullen breathed, looking weak.

“There are lots of holes,” added Leliana, “but if we could _convince_ other parties to go, we’d not be totally screwed.”

“We’d need to convince another elf,” Adhlea added, “and hope Vivienne is nice enough. Also, send a missive in my neatest handwriting; Dorian has to come, he’s awesome, being Tevene and all… We’ve got the shakiest, shittiest plan in the world. Let’s get Vivienne and the four elves who _might_ agree into the same room.”


	44. Chapter 44

“No.” Varaina shook her head. “Not going back to Tevinter.”

“Maybe,” Syven allowed.

“No,” Sera said with a slouch. “I’d fuck them up. They _haul elves in,_ Inky!”

“I… highly doubt I could pull off the look.” Solas looked mildly uncomfortable at the thought.

“Cover your baldness and you’d look _dashing,”_ Enaste said, pretending to swoon.

“Solas.” Varaina got up and got in his personal space. “Think…” she leaned closer. Solas leaned back. “Of the _books.”_

“Books,” he said, glaring at her, “are _not_ why I’d go.”

“We could actually see if the situation is as precarious there,” Adhlea offered, looking at her nails. “See if the slavery is horrible. I’ve never been to Tevinter. Maybe I’ll just ask Gaspard to take me one day. Guess that means no training for –“

“I’ll go,” Solas scowled. “And this look is something I _prefer,_ Varaina, if you’ll _kindly_ leave my personal space it would be greatly appreciated.” Varaina looked suitably chastised even as she backed off.

“Great.” Adhlea took a deep breath. _I’ve gotten one part down. Let’s see if Vivienne will say yes... Actually, Dorian first!_

~:~

Dorian dropped his book. “ _Tevinter?”_ Minaeve shushed them. Dorian scowled at her, then picked his book back up and stalked to the door, Inquisitor following him. “ _Why?”_ His voice echoed. Minaeve shushed them again. He scowled, waiting until they were on the ground floor to ask again. “Why?” The Rotunda smelled of fresh paint.

“The Inquisitor has been called to stand in front of the Magisterium.” Dorian could _feel_ the blood draining from his face. “But the Game is the Game for a reason. _If_ she agrees, this will all play out well.”

He thought for a moment. “Have you gotten another elf?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Who will be playing -?”

“Madame de Fer.” Dorian’s brows shot up. Adhlea – _the Inquisitor_ – cringed. “Is that a bad thing, or a –“

He laughed. “Oh, dear,” he said, throwing his head back and laughing wildly. “Tevinter will _never_ be the same.” He kept laughing. “Tevinter, watch out!”

“The thing is…” Dorian paused. “I’ve not actually _asked,_ seeing as. Well. She could say no…”

~:~

“Of course, darling. I’ll go as your decoy.”

Vivienne watched her flounder. “But I didn’t –“ the duchess said, looking shocked before a look of realization came over her.

Vivienne smirked but answered anyway.

“Oh, darling. I’ve _always_ wanted to go to Tevinter. Plus, two fake servants? Hilarious, dear. I’ve had the metal-worker here commission a set of ear-cuffs I’ll have on whomever comes with you. I’m assuming you’ll wear a mask? I’ll need to make everything perfect, darling.”

“Solas is coming,” she said, glaring as Vivienne made a face. “As is Dorian. He’s from Tevinter; he comes from a noble household.”

“Mm. Well, we’ll see if we can make this work, darling.” Vivienne reached under the chair she’d had dragged up to the overlook she watched the world from. “Here’s these. They’re the old ones I made for you; I’m having new ones made for you for the Winter Ball in Cloudreach.”

“Why not earlier, in Guardian?” The elf had a point.

“Well, darling, the Empress wanted to give the Chantry adequate time to prepare a new Divine, but the people still haven’t decided, so it’s looking more like she’ll push the ball back further. Still. These will more than work.” She opened the decorated earcuffs once more. “You’re looking to dress to impress, even as a fake servant? Well, darling. Subtle humiliation – even though these were not to be such a thing – is a thing Orlesians do. We’re all terribly awful inside.”

She wasn’t smiling, though her tone remained usual. Vivienne was warning the young duchess; the duchess nodded in acknowledgement.

“When do we leave? Rumors can only be stayed for so long,” Vivienne relaxed back as the darling Inquisitor took the box.

“As soon as we’ve got a full plan,” she said, looking up. “We’ll have to match, as _servants,_ but as Inquisitor, I can’t –“

She sighed.

“Oh, darling.” Vivienne had a plan in mind. “You two won’t be my _servants_ in Tevinter. You’ll be their _guests.”_ She smirked darkly. “The Game is, after all, _my_ arena. I shall play in it.”

“Whatever you decide.” The duchess backed up a step, looking wary.

“Since it’s nearing Harvestmere, I’ll assume it’ll be chilly.” Vivienne _did_ so delight in scaring the smaller duchess a little. “I’ve got the _perfect_ plan, darling. Don’t you worry.”


	45. Chapter 45

“You asked me to choose a new name for you.” Solas’ voice made Adhlea jump, turning from where she was moving a few tomes. “I’ve come up with one… I believe it might work for you.”

“Oh?” Adhlea had been rather distracted, what with the upcoming trip to the Tevinter Imperium and all. “What did you come up with?”

“Thalia.” Solas leaned on a pillar. “ _She who protects us.”_

“And if I miserably fail at protecting everyone?” Adhlea shook her head.

“You didn’t. You triggered an avalanche even though you knew it might lead to your death; you stayed behind to protect those people from Corypheus.” Solas’ gaze met hers evenly.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” she muttered, turning and walking to the shelf. Intact library or not, the bookshelves themselves were shit and they’d had to replace them with new ones. Blackwall had claimed he was good at building; he wasn’t wrong. “I almost ran away from the dragon.” She slid the tomes upon the shelf. “I’ve never seen one that close. It… it was _terrifying,_ Solas.”

“Courage,” Solas murmured, suddenly a _bit too close,_ “is not the absence of fear, _lethallan._ It is acting in _spite_ of fear.” Adhlea turned and looked up at him. He smiled down at her gently. “You faced an evil greater than anything you’ve ever faced; you resigned yourself to a fate most would be desperate to avoid. All to protect people you barely know. So, I believe _Thalia_ would suit you, better than most. I had a few names, but…” He leaned against the bookshelf. “I believe you act to protect those around you.

“I…” She turned back to the books, looking away from Solas so he didn’t see her flushed face. “I… _thank you,_ Solas.”

“It is nothing, _lethallan.”_

The carefully controlled aspect that was his magic moved away as Adhlea tossed a look after him, a smile on her face.

_It is more than you know, Solas._

~:~

_Gaspard,_

_Due to my culture, I have been told that my middle name, Kerrah, no longer suits me. The esteemed elder I have come to hold in high respect has informed me that ‘Thalia’ suits me best. I am now known as Adhlea Thalia Lavellan._

_Now, as the least strange news has been finished, the Chantry has declared me Inquisitor Lavellan. This position is highly unprecedented. Please believe me that I did not accept such a title easily._

_Thus, I must inform you. The place where I am leading as Inquisitor from will not tolerate interference. The Frostbacks have been claimed as Inquisition territory; King Alistair himself has agreed with such a statement._

_Empress Celene agreed. Alistair agreed. Everyone agreed to the formation of the Inquisition. They signed the authority to Divine Justinia to pick an Inquisitor. When Divine Justinia died, her writ declared her will to be carried out by her Right and Left hands. I am bound to this position. I have also written to Empress Celene._

_Forgive me, please. I only ask because I know this has now caused you grief. If you’d taken any other elf, this probably would not have happened. I truly apologize._

_Adhlea Thalia Lavellan_

_(PS: In case you were worried, ‘Thalia’ means ‘she who protects us’.)_

~:~

_Your Royal Majesty Empress Celene:_

_I must beg your pardon thrice._

_First, as a Dalish elf, I have the luxury of allowing an elder to choose if my name means anything. I realize what news may come after this, you might not care. My name is now Adhlea Thalia Lavellan._

_Secondly, I must apologize for writing to you, rather than telling you in person._

_Thirdly, I am now Inquisitor Lavellan. This means, according to the writ, I am both your subject and not yours; I follow your rules in your country, as I would King Alistair’s. However, I am – again, according to the writ of Divine Justinia – technically an impartial judge between every single country in the world. I respect all rules but bend the knee to none._

_Lastly. Gaspard is not involved in any of this. My being Inquisitor means that I am technically above him. I have no authority to judge your men if they’ve done_ you _wrong or broken_ your _laws. The Inquisition’s aim is to heal the broken sky first and stop someone terrifyingly evil._

_As for the Frostbacks, as they are my lands, King Alistair has allowed me to claim them as Inquisition territory. Neutral._

_I will be quite unreachable in the next month due to an emergency; please direct all inquiries to Revered Mother Giselle. She has been sworn to secrecy on Inquisition matters._

_With all respect,_

_Duchess Adhlea Thalia Lavellan_

_Inquisitor Lavellan_

~:~

_Archon of the Tevinter Imperium,_

_I shall be arriving in Tevinter shortly with a retinue. Until his fate is decided, Gereon Alexius stays where we have him._

_Inquisitor Lavellan_

~:~

_Da’len,_

_Call me what you like, da’len. Creators know Enaste does not call me that enough. You’re strong. Keep fighting. We have a few issues here with the Lord Wycome; we are trying to peacefully resolve it. As soon as it is resolved, we shall contact you._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I don't know where the tarot cards came from. I was going to delve deep into it for like, a couple chapters... then I lost interest in it. It's too complicated and I don't really believe in tarot cards, anyway. Also... I felt like Adhlea needed a hobby, so - the statues, I guess?

“So, you as Inquisitor. That must mean a great deal to you,” Solas remarked as they set sail, ready for Minrathous. It wasn’t the biggest ship, but it was the fastest to get to the other side. If they’d gone the other way, as in through Orlais, it would have taken months rather than a few weeks at most.

“It does. I have pride as an elf, you know,” she said, glancing at him. “Well, obviously you know. It’s not like I’m subtle about loving my elven heritage.”

Solas chucked for a moment. “Indeed. We’ve not reached Tevinter. Why don’t we practice our magic in… Our room?” On such short notice, Vivienne had been forced to purchase only three separate rooms. Solas chose to ask Adhlea if she was alright if he stayed in what was supposed to be her room rather than bunking with Dorian. She’d allowed it. Two nights had gone by and he was still hesitant to say it. It’s not that he was _uncomfortable_ staying in the same room as Adhlea, and no, he did not fully intend to stay with her for the duration – he’d rather stay with a… fellow elf, if he dare say so, than a human. No matter Dorian’s preference, it was clear Adhlea liked staying with her… kin.

“Let’s,” she smiled at him. “And talk, because if we light something on fire they’re going to have questions and I’d rather not answer them.”

He smiled faintly before they made it to their room.

“If you light something on fire, I can extinguish the flame,” Solas reassured. “However, I was actually going to ask you if you knew warding well.” He recalled the backlash she’d gotten from the warded stone in Haven and winced.

She winced, too, probably remembering that incident or another.

“No. Enaste was better at them, mostly because she’s lazy. If she could, I bet she’d create a ward that warded off anything physical while she slept.”

Solas chuckled as they made themselves comfortable.

“Wards are mostly to alert people of danger, though they can be made to ward off weather,” Solas started. “At most, they can alert you if someone with ill intent enters.”

“Deshanna started using those wards,” Adhlea admitted. “She kept making them further because we settled near-permanently in Wycome.” She blinked. “I mean Keeper Istimaethoriel, sorry.”

Solas waved it off.

“Until we get back to Skyhold, we’ll not delve into practical lessons. Skyhold is better equipped for… accidents,” he said, delicately.

“Just say it. I’m the worst student you’ve ever had,” she groaned, putting her head in her hands.

Solas snorted, despite himself. “Far from it,” he said. “I once had a student who lit everything on fire. It’s not the greatest thing when you’re teaching fire-elementalists who don’t need a staff.” Especially considering he chose ice as his own.

One of Mythal’s guards, actually. She’d died shortly before the Veil had been erected. Sylaise herself had to place wards on the metal pike so that the poor elementalist didn’t burn through it. He could very much see Adhlea as a similar elementalist, if she had been born in Arlathan. In fact, possibly the whole trio of her, her brother, and her sister.

Adhlea’s eyes were wide.

“That bad?” she whispered.

“…she wasn’t a terrible student, she just had a hard time not making everything on fire,” Solas allowed. “And that did set her back when I was helping her out.”

~:~

Dorian rapped on the two elves’ door, a pack of tarot cards in his hand.

“Dorian!” the lovely little flower that was the Inquisitor flushed as she opened the door for him to see rumpled sheets and Solas reading a book in candlelight.

“Oooh, scandalous,” he said, dramatically. “I’m bored and Vivienne is getting some, ah, _beauty sleep_ , shall we say. Care for some terrible, unreliable fortune-telling to pass the time? They’re the only pack of cards I found on this boat.”

She stared at him. “If I get Death, I’m kicking you out.”

She let him in.

“Care to join, Solas?”

The older elf flicked a gaze up. “Not particularly,” he said. “False magicians use them to play others. I’m surprised you buy into it, Thalia.”

Dorian blinked. “Thalia? Who is –“

He remembered. “Ah. Pardon, I forgot.”

Thalia shook her hand. “Believe me, it’s been hard getting used to being called something other than ‘Kerrah’.” She closed the door behind him. Dorian and her sat on the ground.

“Do me first.” He gave her the cards. With a resigned expression, she laid three sets of cards out.

“One of them should be the major arcana and the others I forgot.” At his expression she shrugged. “I didn’t have enough interest at Court to learn more about it. As soon as I heard ‘arcana’, I was there with Vivienne but it turned out he was just someone who was making shit up.”

“What did he give you?”

“The Fool, the Lovers, and a reversed Queen of Cups.” She set the stack of cards down and looked up at him with a dead expression. “I am not innocent, I don’t think Gaspard and I equal a good union, and fuck martyrdom.”

Dorian flipped the three most important cards of his life over.

Strength, reversed Ace of Wands, and reversed King of Wands.

“If one lacked passion, why would I be overbearing?” He snorted.

Thalia grinned at him. “Well, they got the ‘strength’ right. Want to flip over your other ones?”

Dorian shook his head and took the deck, shuffled, and set them out again.

Thalia flipped over an entire side.

Strength, reversed Lovers, Seven of Cups, Two of Swords.

“Looks like you’ll have difficult choices, you’re searching for answers, you’re in a disharmonious relationship, and you’ll still be strong through it all.” Dorian glanced up at her. She was eyeing the cards like she didn’t quite believe them. “Come on, dear. Only mages with the ability to use these can get even _one_ of these right.”

She shrugged and flipped over the first card of the second group.

“I got Death,” she said, glaring at Dorian.

Dorian raised his hands in his defense. “I did not look at them. I would not do that.”

“Death can also be a sign of change,” Solas said from where he sat. “Renewal of a cycle, a fresh start.”

“Well… Still.” She shoved the cards to Dorian. “Is there food anywhere around here? I’m hungry.”

Dorian nodded and stood. “After you, milady.” He swept into a deep bow.

Dorian dropped two cards. Quick as can be, Solas grabbed them from the air.

Dorian tried not to read too much into it. They were the reverse Hierophant and the reverse Magician – both of them reversed to Solas.

No, he decided as he thanked Solas for catching them. They couldn’t be meaningful. Solas was a hobo apostate mage. Not a rebellious trickster – not the way he dressed.

~:~

“Solas, out of curiosity, why did you pick throwing daggers to wield?”

It was some time after that disaster with Dorian, Adhlea doing what she did to calm her nerves. Making halla statues. The question popped out among many other distracted questions.

Solas shifted. “I do not always use a staff,” he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I always have a few up my sleeve, though so rarely do I use them. I prefer magic to blades. What are you making?”

“Halla statues,” Adhlea replied, twisting the horns of one with a heated hand. “It’s… Something I find calms me. And one of the few things I can do with magic without a staff,” she added, wryly. “I can sell a lot of them to any merchant for some coin. I send the coin my Keeper’s way. It helps them.”

She carefully set the cooling halla statue down.


	47. Tevinter

They landed in Tevinter three weeks after leaving Skyhold.

Adhlea was grateful for Solas’ silent presence after they left the ship. As they stopped at an inn for a day and a night to be ready in the morning to enter Tevinter proper; they’d not don their ‘official servant’s garb’ until they neared Minrathous, which would take another two days. Still, it took a lot of effort not to stop her horse and shake the slaves she could see branded with bastardized _vallaslin._ She’d been ready –

“Don’t,” Solas had said in a pained voice. She’d turned to him, her mask nearly limiting her vision. “Don’t look, _da’len._ Keep looking forward.”

Even Dorian looked slightly sickened. Adhlea remembered his words in Haven when she’d asked him about Tevinter keeping slaves.

 _I’d never really thought about it,_ he’d admitted. _It just… was. They’re there, and they’re not here. If that makes sense._

So Adhlea had followed his words as they continued on, Vivienne in her coach.

They stopped one last time, hours before Minrathous. Vivienne coached them on how to slide on the ear-cuffs, then had them slide on their ‘servants’ garb’. Both of theirs were normal Orlesian servants’ clothes, but both had hidden armor and weapons in their bags. To her surprise, Solas had opted not to take a staff, rather stashing daggers in his pack; he’d given her palm-sized daggers without Vivienne seeing them. No doubt they’d be searched, but Adhlea was not worried about that.

Both of them wore boots – Adhlea wore her sturdy ones, with loops with guard-less knifes in them (luckily they’d come with a sheath), Solas similar ones, more than likely – and cloaks that spoke volumes about them. Red ones; red like blood.

In order to throw off any more scrutiny, it was found that slipping on lace gloves for the women – as high as they could go – would hide, for the moment, the proof of the Inquisitor position belonging to Adhlea.

In short, they were dressed like royal servants. Not just simply _Madame de Fer’s_ servants.

They were up before dawn, Adhlea and Solas both being subjected to the beauty rituals required of them; Adhlea was done before Solas, so she had to _wait_ to see him; when he saw her, she saw his eyes widen in surprise as she finally affixed her mask to her face. Even her hair had to be perfect.

“We have a few more hours,” Vivienne said, quietly. “We should go.”

They rode into Minrathous without applause. There was none to greet them; Dorian looked remarkably relieved that although the coach was getting curious looks, there wasn’t a sudden outcry of virulence at the two elves riding horses behind Vivienne’s coach.

“This is where it gets dangerous,” Dorian muttered, looking straight ahead. “They know we’re here.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Solas breathed. “Let the Game begin.”

Adhlea straightened on her horse.

They were stopped by an elegant man that looked… _similar_ to Dorian.

“Great Inquisitor,” he bowed. Dorian stiffened in his seat. “Lady Lavellan, House Pavus welcomes you to Minrathous.” He made no notion that he was even aware of Dorian’s appearance; Adhlea was… slightly relieved that Magister Pavus said nothing about Dorian’s appearance.

Adhlea was also well-aware of the eyes.

“Thank you,” Adhlea said, keeping her eyes straight and face forward. “My lady does not tend to talk when you speak of that title, my lord. She has instructed me to answer.” Misdirection, _misdirection!_

“I _prefer_ Madame de Fer. Lavellan is such a strange surname to me.” Vivienne smirked. “My dear Thalia is correct, however. Please address me as Madame de Fer.” As soon as he’d kissed her, she withdrew her hand. “Should we take this elsewhere, Lord Pavus?”

“Certainly, my lady. I shall direct your coach and servants to my household, if you would like.”

“Ah, as much as that is appreciated,” smiled the woman, “These two servants are also serving as my bodyguards. I’m quite afraid that I must insist they follow behind your coach; it wouldn’t do for one of them to run off and tell the sweet, sweet Empress that I lost them. She’d call an army against Tevinter!”

The duo laughed lightly; well, that _hadn’t_ been planned, but – well. Perhaps they could work better like this.

Magister Pavus kept a fixed smile on his face as he nodded.

“Very well. If you’ll all follow.”

Adhlea, once the carriage door had shut and none could see her expression, glanced to Solas.

“Well, it’s _not_ a lie,” Dorian murmured. “But with every misdirection, it can raise suspicions.”

“In other words,” Solas said, glancing at her and barely moving his lips, “we are, as you say, fucked.”

Adhlea sighed.

Creators _damn_ it, things weren’t supposed to be _this_ hard.

~:~

“How do you think they’re doing?” Varaina set a book on the shelf above her. Even if Vivienne didn’t travel around, they’d still reach Minrathous in about five days.

“I’d say they’re doing fine.” Syven sighed, looking up from his book. “Have you heard that she’s been invited to Orzammar?”

“Considering she won’t be back for a while, I was hoping they’d open it to the Inquisition. Guess I can’t be surprised they refuse.” Varaina shrugged. “Honestly… I hope she never –“ Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck. Syven.” She turned, her face ash white. “Our master was in Tevinter. I don’t know if Fenris killed him.” She swallowed. “If he sees Adhlea, he’s going to _want_ her. He was always intrigued by Mother’s red hair.” Varaina tugged at her locks. “Her hair is already somewhat white from the Fade.”

“Assumed, but yes. You should write to Fenris and hope.”

Varaina nodded. “Let’s hope he fucking _opens_ this letter.”

~:~

Marina shoved the letter at Fenris. “Read it, please,” the woman said, begging in her eyes. “I have a bad feeling about it.”

Fenris was already scowling as he flopped into a chair. He opened the letter.

_Fenris,_

_Adhlea is in Tevinter. If Denarius is still alive, he will know she is our sister. Please, Fenris – don’t allow her to suffer our fates._

_I am not lying. Tevinter called her to see them. She’s posing as a bodyguard of the Madame de Fer. If I lie – which I do not_

_Look, older brother, my asa’ma’lin Adhlea is in trouble if your fucking master still lives. She dies, it’s on you. Name’s Syven, Adhlea’s younger twin. We’re Dalish, Varaina’s not lying. I will fucking **murder you** if my sister comes to harm. Today is the fifth of Harvestmere, she should arrive in Minrathous by the tenth._

_Syven and Varaina_

Fenris stared at the letter.

Something… _Something_ told him that this was no joke.

“Marina!”

Marina’s footsteps were heard as she appeared. Fenris was hurriedly packing.

“Marina, I need your help. In not killing Denarius –“ _you told me not to do it, so I didn’t and now look at where we are_ “ – my sister Adhlea, the lady duchess woman who came with Varaina, she could be in danger.” He paused. “ _Significant_ danger. She’s headed into Tevinter. If this bird flew in directly after they wrote the letter, she should have arrived two days ago.”

Hawke’s eyes hardened. “Fuck. _Fuck.”_

“What?” Fenris’ eyes widened at her stern face.

“The Inquisitor going into Minrathous, your sister going there? Coincidence? _Fuck._ I should’ve answered Leliana.” Hawke shook her head. “Let’s go.”

“I –“

“Even if it’s nothing, Fen,” the human mage said, her brown eyes softening, “I will stay with you. I want you to take a detour, though. I want you out of that piece-of-shit’s hands. I will arrive in Minrathous on the seventeenth; it is my hopes that nothing will have happened. Something does, go directly to Magister Tilani.”

Fenris nodded. The female magister and Hawke had clashed on one memorable occasion; somehow, the duo had turned out to become even friends. Fenris still did not understand women.

Hawke vanished through the silent halls of her large home. Fenris finished packing and followed soon after.


	48. Chapter 48

Vivienne glanced at the almost unnatural stillness of her ‘servants’ and the bored yet alert form of a reading Dorian. Vivienne had requested the use of the library for her and her retinue; the Lord Pavus had been most accommodating.

Five days since arriving at Minrathous and Lord Pavus _waxed poetic_ about the servants – no, _slaves_. He’d not made no mention of the Inquisitor, so Vivienne knew the ruse was working; but Adhlea had said, just the previous night as she’d ‘guarded’ the inside of Vivienne’s room (actually slept. Solas had her up before the rest of the household, as the Fade-Walker was apparently able to sleep and guard at the same time. Somehow. Vivienne no longer doubted the dreamer’s abilities after he’d stood guard four, going on five nights in a row.), Vivienne’s goal was to keep Magister Pavus from being suspicious. No ruler would be content to _wait,_ and unless there was a _valid_ reason, Vivienne should push to meet with the Archon.

Even Dorian had his brows raised.

“My dear Magister,” Vivienne crooned after a particularly _long_ and grueling game of Wicked Grace (Magister Pavus was a dreadful player. Vivienne much preferred Thalia. She may not have the ability to _not_ advertise her movements on the board, but she _was_ entertaining. She was beginning to regret agreeing, although honestly, she _would_ like to meet with the Archon), “it has been five days since my arrival. As much as I _delight_ in Minrathous, my Empress _does_ expect me back.”

“Ah. Forgive me!” the magister smiled and stood. “Lovely Inquisitor, your formal invitation to the Imperium Magisterium and the subsequent ball.”

Well, in Thalia’s oh-so-eloquent words, they were indeed _screwed._ Vivienne lounged back, humming to herself.

“I do hope,” she said, silkily, “that I won’t be without my guards, and that they are treated well.”

“I do notice you are rather careful here,” the magister smiled. It was not a good one. “Might I ask why?”

Vivienne was the Mistress of Ice, and it showed even here as the enchantress smiled coolly at the magister.

“I get a lot of death threats outside the walls of the keep I live in,” Vivienne informed him silkily. “Of course, I’ve told the rulers about them, but they,” she waved her hands to the red-robed elves, “are my adequate, well-paid meat shields. He.” Vivienne motioned to Dorian. “Is my rather idiotic guide.”

“A failure of many things,” the magister said, finally deigning to look at him.

“Ah, Magister Pavus; I would not blame the young man. Clearly he’s not been shown how to treat his betters by his parents; I shouldn’t expect too much from him.” Vivienne faked a sip of her tea as she not-so-subtly stated that she blamed the Magister for his rather atrocious manner.

Dorian gave the magister a smirk. The magister looked like he’d been struck. Looked like Vivienne had _finally_ lost all good-will with him.

“The convening of the Magisterium begins in the morning,” the magister said, his voice cold. “I shall have the slaves wake you up.”

“No need, darling.” Vivienne rose elegantly. “My servants are well-accustomed to waking me up.”

Vivienne inclined her head to Magister Pavus.

Once in the room, Thalia took her mask off. “ _Well-paid meat shields?”_ she hissed in Vivienne’s ear.

 _“They’re going to find out,”_ Vivienne hissed back. “ _And technically, I’m not lying. You_ are _an adequate meat shield, dear.”_


	49. The Magisterium

The day to see the magisters dawned far too early. Adhlea’s stomach was in knots.

Oh, just an average day, then, full of magisters that ruled the Tevinter Imperium and would have to listen to Vivienne give a full account of what Alexius did; and Adhlea’s identity would be shown and everything would fall to pieces.

And Dorian… Dorian was smirking as the group were shown into the Magisterium.

“What’s so funny?” Adhlea murmured, barely moving her lips.

“We’ve got human serv – er, they’re slaves, but they’re human,” Dorian murmured back. “No elf has ever stepped into the Magisterium before.”

“You two are _very_ lucky,” Vivienne said, in earshot as magisters turned in the hallways. “No elf, in all the time the magisterium has stood, has ever set foot in these gilded hallways! Correct, Magister Pavus?”

“Indeed,” their _lucky_ guide replied stiffly.

Adhlea did not glance at Solas. Hair rose on the back of her neck; she felt like she was being watched.

Her eyes moved over the people watching. Yes, she was. A short human man was staring almost _hungrily_ at her as she moved by. As she left his vision, she held back a shudder.

“Magister Denarius,” Dorian murmured in her ear. “Be very careful to not be alone around him, Thalia.” Adhlea nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Vivienne.” Solas’ murmur reached all of their ears, but only just. “We will need to be straightforward. No misdirection in the room. Do they seal it, Dorian?”

“Always, to keep the slaves from prying into affairs,” Dorian muttered.

“Then as soon as the magisterium is sealed,” Solas explained, “Vivienne, you _must_ drop the act.”

“What act?” Vivienne chuckled lightly even as she whispered. “Darling, I’ve played the Game a while now. I already knew what was to happen when I woke up this morning. We all did.”

Magister Pavus turned from his several paces ahead and gestured. “The center is where you will stand. Please await the Archon.”

The group of four swept in.

Time for the show. They did not wait long, as the raised platforms on all the walls lit up as magisters took their places, the Archon sitting right below a seat that was draped in sheer black.

“Is that where your Divine sits?” Viviennne asked, not bothering to lower her voice. The words of others covered it well.

“He earns his name, doesn’t he?” Dorian snorted.

The Archon’s platform lit up; the Black Divine’s lit up. Everyone was there.

Doors slammed shut.

Magisters went deathly silent.

“Inquisitor Lavellan – er, _Madame de Fer_ , you were told to bring the prisoner Gereon Alexius so that we might figure out what exactly occurred. Felix Alexius is here to bear witness to your testimony. Why did you refuse to bring the prisoner?”

“Before we get into all the fine details,” Vivienne said, smiling under her Orlesian hennin, “everyone in this room seems to think _I_ am the lovely Inquisitor Lavellan.” She took off her white, right-hand glove. Her voice echoed in the silence. _Here we are._ Adhlea held her breath. “While it is indeed true I am held in quite high esteem, I’m _quite_ afraid that these two elves were _not_ the bodyguards.” She stripped off her left hand glove, revealing single-toned brown skin. Tension rose as she raised her hand and wiggled the glow-less one elegantly. “My lovely little Inquisitor, come out of your shell.”

Adhlea stepped forward. A pen could have fallen and be heard dropping to the lush, carpeted floor of the magisterium as she removed her left hand glove. The Anchor sputtered to life as she took off her right hand glove and took a deep breath.

“Magisters of the Tevinter Imperium,” she said, loudly and with the utmost confidence, “I did not appear before any in broad daylight in order to _not_ spark any civil war within your borders. I speak as the Inquisitor Thalia Lavellan before you.”

The Archon’s voice was frozen. “Remove the mask, _Inquisitor.”_

She hesitated, placing a hand on it.

“Magisters!” Dorian’s hands clapped on her shoulders. “My name is Dorian Pavus, former scion of House Pavus. Please, let us wait until _after_ the ball; wouldn’t want to show the Empress and King Alistair that the Tevinter Imperium does not show its _invited guests_ the courtesy of explaining themselves, especially after the dearest Inquisitor has expressed a desire _not_ to spark a civil war.”

Dorian seemed to speak easily to the group. Given that Adhlea was constantly reminded that he’d been born a Tevinter, she had quite easily forgotten he had experience here.

Above the Archon, a deep voice rumbled out.

“I would hear the elf out.”

Whispers went to a roar. Dorian leaned closer.

“This is a new Divine,” he said, sounding puzzled as he whispered in her ear. “The other one would have kicked your ass out.”

Adhlea nodded, casting a quick look to Solas. He offered her a tense smile.

“ENOUGH!” The Black Divine’s voice exploded out in annoyance.

Silence once more.

“Speak, elf girl.”

Adhlea swallowed and stepped forward. Dorian let her go as she went directly to the middle.

“Magisters,” she began again. “Magister Gereon Alexius used an amulet to twist time in Redcliffe. He and a group of other mages, known as the Venatori, follow the _Elder One._ This Elder One goes by the name of Corypheus.” Silence echoed in the chamber. “Alexius attempted to kill me by sending me into the future using an amulet. I met with the Elder One –“ _shot an arrow in his face_ “- with my companion Dorian Pavus. His testimony is much more thorough than mine; as for the reason I did not bring the former magister.” Adhlea stared at the Archon’s shadowed figure. “He killed an arl of Redcliffe and tortured his family and staff before murdering them in his multiple attempts to turn back time past the Breach’s appearance. Notes we found indicated the magic was only available whilst the Breach was active; it could not twist time before the appearance of the Breach. This, coupled with the fact he _illegally enslaved_ over a hundred mages using their phylacteries gave Alistair enough reason to kill him. However, due to the fact that he attempted to kill me _and_ the fact even you, Archon, and the Bla – the _Divine_ of this country – signed Divine Justinia’s Inquisition writ; Gereon Alexius is the Inquisition’s to punish however we see fit.”

And _that_ had been a surprise. Here, she had thought that the Archon and the Black Divine would hate the thought of the Inquisition; _but_ Justinia had cleverly and _blatantly_ said that the Inquisition was neutral and only answered to the Southern Chantry. Given that Tevinter wasn’t really engaged with the South, Adhlea’s surprise had been much less. After all, it was now only the _South_ who were having the issue of rebelling mages.

Speaking of the writ, it had taken an entire fucking night to read through the damn tome. _With_ Solas, who mentioned that it was drier than even the Hissing Wastes. Given that the Hissing Wastes were said to be almost insanity-inducing, Adhlea had given him a higher pay for the duration of the mission.

Her voice never wavered.

“Did we, now?” The Archon sounded _amused._ “Bring out Felix Alexius.”

Adhlea watched as a door near her level opened, Felix looking terribly frail. Sick.

“If we gave you Felix Alexius, we expect a trade,” the Archon boomed. “Gereon Alexius in exchange for his son.”

“Denied.” Adhlea’s words flew out without thought.

“You _dare –“_

“Archon.” The Archon went silent. “Why do you refuse, Elf?”

“I am _Inquisitor,_ Divine,” she said, boldly. Coldly. “If you must address me, address me by my title.”

Vivienne sucked in a sharp gasp.

“As you wish, _Inquisitor.”_ He sounded even more amused than the Archon. “Why do you refuse?”

“I refuse,” Adhlea replied, coldly, “because a sick and dying boy is nothing to his father. His father will pay the price for his actions.”

“You _dare_ speak to the Divine in such a tone?” the Archon sounded outraged.

“I _dare,”_ she said, showing teeth, “because he is not _my_ Divine. Try to order me around all you desire, _Divine._ I will not trade a sick weakling for his father.”

“I suppose the death penalty would be rather ineffective on the sick,” the Divine replied, after a measurable silence. “Release the prisoner.”

Felix was released. Dorian jolted as he fell.

Adhlea inclined her head in respect at the hidden Divine. “If I am allowed to have one of my own administer aide?”

“You may,” the Divine rumbled. “Inquisitor Lavellan, we recognize the claim you have on the life of former Magister Gereon Alexius. We’ve no use for Felix Alexius. Take him with you. I shall see you in a few hours for the ball, _Inquisitor.”_

Adhlea flicked her wrist unnecessarily. Dorian helped the blight-sick young man up.


	50. Maevaris Tilani

“I do not like the Divine here,” Vivienne muttered after freshening her makeup.

Adhlea shuddered to herself. “I’m more worried about Magister Denarius.”

“Who, dear?” Vivienne frowned at her.

“Magister. Creepy.” Adhlea shuddered. “Tell me, Vivienne – do you think I handled myself well in there?”

Vivienne paused.

“I thought you’d insulted the Divine,” she replied, a fine crease between her brows. “What worries me is how _amused_ he sounded.”

“Dorian said he was new,” Adhlea said, fixing her mask. “Are you ready?”

“Hardly. Now, we are known.” Vivienne looked genuinely nervous. “As soon as we arrive, the ball will be in full swing. Everyone will look at you; and you’ll be escorted by nobody!”

A knock came to the door.

“Yes?”

“Carriage for the Inquisitor from the Divine,” a slave said, timidly.

“Apparently,” Adhlea said, her face paling, “I _do_ have an escort.”

~:~

Maevaris Tilani swallowed as Madame de Fer stepped in with the forsaken scion of House Pavus on her arm. Dorian nodded to her. The female magister started to walk, only to stop as a slave rapped a spoon on a glass.

“The Divine and the Inquisitor.”

There was the traditional hush. The dark-skinned Divine stepped into view, the Inquisitor stepping after him.

A new mask was on her face, similar in image. If Magister Tilani had to guess, the Inquisitor had many masks tucked away. Probably to color coordinate, as her mask was a light green while her dress was a dark color; it made her glowing hand – tucked into the Divine’s arm – glow brighter.

Maevaris had to admit, the elf was _bold._ Tricking the entire Imperium to think that the dark-skinned Madame de Fer was the Inquisitor without outright lying… She had to tip her head to the woman.

When she’d first stepped behind the Madame, Maevaris had been confused. Then Madame de Fer had stepped to the side and inclined her head to the elven Inquisitor. The way the elf had spoken suggested an elegant upbringing.

As the Divine stepped directly to the table with finger foods and alcohol, the Inquisitor’s eyes met hers. Detached, cold – and oddly, very beautiful. The Divine rarely attended such paltry events; the new one had a little smirk on his face.

“Why is nobody dancing?” The Archon murmured somewhere behind her. “Someone should be.”

Like magic, some couples practically fell onto the dance floor. Maevaris scanned the floor for Dorian; she started almost violently as she felt a hand on hers.

“Hello, Mae,” Dorian murmured.

“Why aren’t you with your companion?” Maevaris dragged him onto the dance floor. “Since you grabbed me so rudely, you must give me a dance,” she told him in a crisp voice.

Dorian and Maevaris danced for a couple seconds.

“Keep an eye on Magister Denarius, please. If the Inquisitor leaves early, watch him.” Dorian’s mustache brushed her ear.

“Why should I do this?” Maevaris twirled. Dorian kept a hold on her hand as the bards played.

“Because you promised long ago, Mae.” Dorian gave her a small, sad smile. “I’ve thrown my lot in with her. I almost refused to come to Minrathous; then I thought –“

“I will not be part of the Inquisition, Dorian.” Maevaris stepped back, intending to end the dance. He kept a hold of her hand, indicating he still needed to talk as he looked around.

“Not asking you to, Maevaris. Tevinter as a whole owes a lot to the elves.”

Maevaris had enough of this, talking in public. She stepped up on her tiptoes.

“ _Veranda. After this next dance.”_

“Fine.”

Dorian let her go, Maevaris getting passed along as gently as any woman would here. The Divine stood from his and the Inquisitor’s seat; the Inquisitor stood with him.

Maevaris cleared the floor, slipping to the veranda.

“How the fuck do we owe them anything?” She stared at Dorian, who gripped the edge of the veranda with much strength.

“Simple, darling.” Maevaris turned to see Madame de Fer against the wall. She’d barely noticed the enchanter’s departure from the dance floor; speaking of, the Divine bowed to the Inquisitor as she bowed to him. “The Tevinter Imperium destroyed her homeland, paved the way for an Exalted March, and now they’re your slaves.” The woman examined her fingertips. “Oh, and there’s the tiny thing of your Magisterium being responsible for Corypheus.”

Maevaris clenched her teeth. “You haven’t been here in a while, Dorian. But I’ll tell you – the Divine _looks_ amused, but he is swift in punishing. The smallest offense almost means _death._ I can’t help you at –“

“I’m just asking you to watch the Inquisitor while she’s here,” Dorian said, mildly. “I’m not asking you to commit treason against the Bla -, er, the _Divine.”_ Maevaris’ eyebrows shot up. “What? I’ve lived in and out of Tevinter for the past four, five years. Though, I did not think it was enough time to go native! By the way, when _did_ we get a new Divine?”

Maevaris grimaced.

“Last year. Around when everything in Kirkwall happened.”

Dorian closed his eyes, looking… _relieved._

“Why?”

“I thought you were going to say when the Justinia died. By the way, when’s the holiday?”

“Oh, he –“ Maevaris frowned. “He just kept the previous Justinia’s death day. Why?”

“You declare the death day of the Divine –“

Maevaris held her hand up to shut Vivienne up. “Andraste’s tits,” she breathed. “He’s fucking _dancing_ with her.”

All heads turned to the Inquisitor and the Divine. It was a traditional waltz, well-known in each circle.

“He’s not on either side,” Maevaris said, head barely turning to Dorian, her eyes still on the dancing duo. “All the previous Divines have been firmly on the oppression of elves. Nobody knows where he stands. It’s a rocky slope. Which is why this is so _strange._ ”

He _dipped_ the elf, that same odd, amused smile on his face.

The song came to an end.

“During the duration of her stay,” the Divine’s rumbling voice said, “she and her companions are under my protection.”

“He just painted a target on her back,” Vivienne hissed. “On _all_ our backs.”

“Not just that,” Maevaris said, faint. “He just fucking painted the biggest target on _his_ head.”

“Mae,” Dorian said, voice careful. “What happened to the last Divine?”

Maevaris swallowed.

“He was killed by a mage,” Maevaris said, sounding faint. “So the Archon allowed his successor to ascend.” Maevaris turned wide eyes on Dorian. “But, Dorian… The new Divine. He… he might be a mage.”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting. I doubt she’ll be able to tell.”

Maevaris gave her a confused look as another magister, with a repulsed look on his face, asked for a dance. The Inquisitor obliged.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Dalish elves – possibly just elves in particular – who are mages have this intriguing little ability to tell who is a mage or not.”

Maevaris shook her head. “That’s impossible,” she murmured. _Was it?_ Her family didn’t own any mage elves; they were given lyrium brands to suppress magical ability. Or collared.

“Is it?” Vivienne murmured. “Still. We should all be very careful. And probably return to the party.”

With that, Vivienne melted back into the crowd.

Maevaris was left with Dorian.

“Do you love her?” she wondered, as Dorian watched the Inquisitor with interest.

“Hmm?” Dorian glanced at her. “No, Mae. I would not wed you because I do not feel like being untrue to myself.” Dorian gave her another sad smile. “I’m afraid you would not be so understanding of why I fled.”

With that, the former scion of House Pavus entered the party once more.

Maevaris was left alone on the veranda, her eyes once more staring at the woman who danced with Magister Denarius.


	51. The Black Divine

He was, admittedly, quite taken aback when she’d stepped forward. Having seen her behind the Madame de Fer, he’d assumed – wrongly – she was just a well-paid servant of the Orlesian woman. Hearing her speak, he’d been amused. Truly amused, at how well she made it clear that she wouldn’t budge. She was stubborn, certainly; he’d then decided to play the best host he could.

Seeing her in the rather… fetching shade of green that matched her mask and mark, he’d held back any attraction.

Petrus Ignatius was, unknown to many, the bastard son of an elf slave and a magister. He’d been sent to the Chantry when he was young; his mother had visited him in secret.

It wasn’t that he sided with the elves; he was simply well-aware that they were the oddities. Antiva, the Anderfels – every other country had supposed _equality_ with the elves.

The only ones he could say did not lie about their elves being equal was the ones who decided to go join the Qun. The Qun, who, as of late, had tried to infiltrate the Imperium. Tevinter was loathed. This might very well be the _only_ chance Tevinter had a chance to survive.

So, Petrus decided to take her to a dance he did not usually attend, making the slave driving the coach drive around a few buildings. She did not look at them, simply stared at him with her strange magenta eyes.

Petrus had smiled at her.

“Do not worry, Inquisitor. I don’t tend to grab every elf I see and force them into slavery.”

She’d given him a cold smile.

“Only _most of them,_ correct?”

“You wound me, dear Inquisitor. As Divine, I am not in charge of the day-to-day affairs. That would be the Archon.”

“Mm.” She transferred her gaze to behind him.

“Stay another day,” he said, on a whim. “Allow me to show you some of the… _delights_ of Tevinter.” The coach stopped; the Inquisitor getting ready to leave. “Allow me, Inquisitor.” He stepped out. He preferred humans to sleep with, but he could not deny her beauty. She was even married; from what he could tell, into Orlesian nobility as he led her out.

He also noticed, with a smirk, she was abnormally warm. An elven mage.

Not that it factored into any of his plans. He was not so in desperate need of a bedmate he’d sleep with an _elf._

“Would those delights, perhaps, include a library?” she questioned as they walked forth into the hall of dancing.

He’d not counted on her question; nevertheless, the way she’d spoken had also spoken of a magister, Corypheus – not with any notes in her voice to have the people attack her verbally, but he could draw his own conclusions. She wanted anything at all. She and her Inquisition was desperate.

“Perhaps.” He looked down at her. She kept her face forward. “Orlesian nobility, I’m assuming?”

“Perhaps,” she returned back at him.

His smile was amused.

He led her into the ballroom, heading for the two seats – one for the Archon, one for the Divine, but this night one for the Inquisitor and one for the Divine – at the food table. Finger foods were available.

The hush was quite irritating; he could see naked jealousy in the eyes of the other humans.

Perhaps they thought his guest was merely faking it; perhaps they were envious of her seemingly ethereal presence. Still.

They sat as everyone started dancing.

“I assume you’ve not eaten anything,” he murmured to her, not touching the food.

She refused to look at him. “I don’t tend to eat things not made by my own hands.”

“Ah, the elf in you, I presume?”

“Hardly,” the woman said, her head turning to meet his eyes with cold fire. “I’m _Dalish_ , Divine. It’s the Dalish in me.”

Now… _that. That_ was a genuine surprise. He’d never met a true Dalish elf.

“Shall we dance?” he questioned, offering her his hand. “You’re familiar with the Orlesian waltz, yes?”

She glanced at him. “If I wasn’t, Celene would have killed me long ago.”

He… wondered if that was a joke.

Still. Once on the floor, the duo bowed in almost perfect unison. The dance began.

The dance ended with a dip; he performed it with that same amused smile. She wasn’t even out of breath; he supposed as Inquisitor she had to keep in shape.

“During the duration of her stay,” he said, loud enough that it carried to the veranda where he could see Maevaris Tilani staring at them in shock, “she and her companions are under my protection.”

He _did_ so enjoy the brief silence.

“Dance, Inquisitor. Enjoy the night,” he said, offering a cold smile to the masses. _Dance with her,_ he made his face say. He left her to the magisters.

~:~

He knew that color of red. It had always been an odd color on the elf woman who’d borne a child with the same color hair. Her eyes had been green.

He’d been almost disappointed when the boy he’d re-named as Fenris’ hair had been a dark brown, then turned white during the placement of the brands. He wondered, if he didn’t place them on the entire body, would her hair turn white? He’d always faintly regretted letting such a gorgeous red out of his hands; now, though… Perhaps there was a chance for him to reclaim it.

He asked for a dance, keeping his eyes on her brilliant red hair for most of the dance, piled up in an elegant bun with a few strands artfully arranged around her face.

Perhaps, he could use her. He _did_ want his prized slave back; all he had to do was tell the Divine he wanted his lost property to return and more than likely he’d allow her to remain in his… _custody._

She said not a word to him. He said nothing to her.

“May I cut in, Magister?”

The cold voice of the former scion of House Pavus cut in. Denarius found himself the object of cold, pissed off eyes. He had little choice but to leave.

“Of course,” Denarius said, reluctantly releasing her. The Inquisitor was whisked away in a flurry of skirts.


	52. Chapter 52

_Gaspard,_

_Return to Val Royeaux at once._

_Empress Celene_

Gaspard was definitely not prepared for Celene to recall him to Val Royeaux immediately after reaching Verchiel. His cousin had sent a poor runner, who’d been shaking in his boots, to give the letter to Gaspard. Gaspard had allowed the page to stay the night.

The Empress, upon his arrival, had made him wait one day before Briala appeared to him.

“Grand Duke,” the Empress’ lover demurred, bowing low. “The Empress requests your presence in her chambers.”

He followed her. In the nearly empty hallways of Celene’s private residence, there was no need to wear masks, though she did tend to look down upon anyone who did not dress presentably.

His cousin flicked her hand at Briala.

“Lock the door on the way out.” He heard the rage in her voice as Briala bowed and left. The door slammed shut. Celene had been bent over her writing desk; she threw a letter at Gaspard. “Read it.” He picked it up.

He read it, his wife’s letters crisp and neat and confident. Herald, then Inquisitor. _Intriguing._

“I find nothing wrong with my letter.” He folded it. “Why did it not go to Verchiel?”

“It arrived half a day after you left,” the Empress said, her eyes meeting his. Rage glittered in her eyes. “Now read _this.”_

She walked over to him and shoved the second, much-longer looking, letter in his chest. Gaspard read it, too – it said much the same thing, except the unreachable part.

“Were you aware,” Celene said, her voice angered, “that _the Herald_ was your _wife_?”

“I told you as much the day the incident between templars and Chantry sisters occurred, Empress.” He knew he very well _hadn’t,_ but then again he’d only said there was a mild incident concerning the Herald of Andraste, templars, and Chantry sisters. Celene had not asked about his wife. “Is there something concerning about these letters, Empress?”

Celene glared at him. “You did not tell me the Herald was _her._ Why did you leave her there? Alone?”

“If I recall, Empress, it was because you did not want her _here,”_ Gaspard replied, sharply. “And she did not particularly like Verchiel, considering all the violent actions towards her.” She’d spent all of a month in Verchiel before he’d found out she’d run out of there under the cover of night. He’d found her two days later, sleeping in a tree. He wouldn’t have found her if that squirrel hadn’t tried to attack them.

(It was a long story. Suffice to say one of his men had become rather traumatized by the event and thoroughly hated squirrels. It had been so _stupid_ that Gaspard had been exasperated by the fact a fucking _squirrel_ had traumatized his man.)

“You should have kept her with you,” the Empress spat.

“Too late now, Empress.” He did not grin at her. “I had no knowledge of her becoming Inquisitor. You’ve kept me quite busy, Empress.”

She kept glaring at him. “If this Inquisition proves to be too much –“

“With _all_ due respect, Majesty,” a new voice said, from a person he had not noticed in the room, “the Inquisition is neutral.” There was a mighty thud. “All the monarchs signed it. Even the Qunari leaders.” Morrigan of the Arbor Wilds snorted as she stood. “Justinia must have sent several people to _them._ Even so, the writ is binding; you cannot simply pretend to have lost it. Do you not pay attention to what you sign?”

Celene narrowed her eyes. “Be careful, Morrigan.” The three in the room knew it was an empty threat. Morrigan alone knew how to open the Eluvian, though Morrigan did not cross through the mirror but once. Even then, Morrigan had barred anyone from entering. Her face had been paler than death. Celene transferred her gaze back to Gaspard.

“Walk _very_ carefully, Grand Duke. Walk like shards of glass pierce your feet,” the Empress said, her voice delicate and low. “I will be watching. You’re free to leave.”

Gaspard bowed deeply before leaving, letter clutched in his hand. He had to give Ker - _Thalia_ credit for at least _attempting_ to warn him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I have a tumblr, but I suck at posting on there, tbh. So, instead -   
> I HAVE A BLOG!  
> I've actually had it for a while now. It's got rants I've had on multiple subjects, an angry rant about my sister directed towards her that I REALLY kinda don't want her to see... ANYWAY.  
> I was thinking that I made all these characters and there's barely any information on what they look like here. SO.  
> On my blog there's my Dalish Inquisitor OC character description. For most of the major characters I'll be making one, and I'll be fleshing out side characters like Elaine Trevelyan and Yenera. There's a major spoiler for Yenera listed on Adhlea's page, but... Not really all that concerned with that, tbh.  
> Here's the blog site:  
> http://lolangez.blogspot.com/2019/09/my-dalish-inquisitor-about-adhlea.html   
> Just one last thing. I will add a photo of her as what she'd look like in the game, but seeing as it's a PS4 version, it's probably not going to be up for a while. Also, additions may be added on occasion because I refuse to let my Lavellan become a Mary-Sue.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I wanted there to be bigger stakes, it'll all make sense when I post a few more chapters, ya'll can bite me if you don't like it.  
> Review, please! I enjoy hearing constructive criticism. Also, flames will be used by Adhlea.

“I actually _did_ do something last night,” Solas glared. “ _Aside_ from keeping him alive.” He jerked his head to Felix’s sleeping form. “I slipped into the library.”

Dorian’s brows rose. “Without getting caught? I didn’t think that was possible.”

_I have more tricks up your sleeve than you know._

“It is. I had to leave before anyone caught me.” Solas was, grudgingly, thankful that the Divine had given them new accommodations due to the hatred Thalia was going to face from Dorian’s father. “I found no mention of anyone named Corypheus.”

Thalia removed her mask as she flopped down in the armchair. “What if that’s not his real name? From what Varric spoke of, the Grey Wardens had over a thousand years to kill him. It might not be so far-fetched to assume that he had a name change in the centuries; perhaps Corypheus was simply a name to put them off.” She stared at her mask, thoughtfully. “After all, a lie said often enough to yourself is one even you might believe.”

“Again, it _was_ over a thousand years ago,” Dorian added after taking his gaze from the rather quiet Inquisitor. “We’d have to do a deep, thorough search. I’ll message Maevaris, a good friend, and see if she cannot help.”

“That… would not be wise,” Solas cautioned. “If you intend to meet with her, you should ask her then. We do not know how long we will stay here.”

“A week more, at most.” Vivienne stepped into the room. “After all, you’ve promised something to the Divine, haven’t you, dear?”

She was looking at Thalia with narrowed eyes; Thalia did not respond.

“Inquisitor.” Solas leaned forward, placing a hand on her still one.

She jolted as though he’d shocked her; with how deep in thought she appeared to be, he assumed that was the case. He withdrew his palm.

“What?” she asked, looking confused.

“You promised the Divine something?”

She sighed. “I did. An Antivan Crow will attack me sometime in the next day, and I cannot have any of you near me.”

“Why not?” Vivienne looked incensed.

Thalia bit her lip. “He has decided to outlaw lyrium branding, but he needs a valid reason.”

Solas’ eyes widened. “No,” he said, anger coating his voice. “That would be dangerous, _da’len._ You will not do it.”

Her eyes rose to meet his. “Did I _ask_ for your opinion?” she demanded, ire in them. “I have his assurances it will not go that far.”

“What happens if it does, _da’len?_ You could be cut off from your magic!”

“The Antivan Crow will be watching.” She picked at a flaw in her dress. “The Divine feels apathy for the slaves, but in outlawing the branding…”

“What good will that do?” Vivienne questioned, sipping a drink. “Darling, you’d be disfigured with the brands, but honestly. It isn’t like the lyrium cuts off magic –“

“It does in elves, not humans,” Solas said, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. “And you are willing to let your connection be cut off from the Fade –“

“ _It will not go that far,”_ Thalia snarled. “Should the Divine break his word, I’m more than happy to break whatever I promised in return.”

“What? _What_ did you promise in return?”

Her eyes stared at his, hard and unflinching. “I promised that I’d get rid of the Archon so a new one could step in. In _fact,_ I’ve already spoken with the Crow who is set to injure me. Should the Divine break his word, the Crow will not follow through.”

Solas blinked. “…why?” he asked. “Why promise _him_ something and not gain something –“

“All of this is for the _fucking_ _library_ ,” she snapped, interrupting him. “While I’m off with the magister I’m supposed to have killed, you all will be searching for the magister’s real name; when the Archon dies – _which, if all goes to plan_ , should be at the end of the week – you three _must_ leave. I’ll find my own way back to Skyhold.”

“That is _idiocy,”_ Vivienne said, her eyes narrowed. “Who is to say they’ll let –“

“Vivienne – when I do go missing, do not raise a fuss until a day later. The Divine has a dinner with the Archon planned that you and Dorian will be invited to; the Divine has assured me that they do not know of my relation to Empress Celene.” The Inquisitor looked drained.

“Dear,” Dorian said, looking confused, “who is it the Divine wants to be rid of?”

“The creepy magister, Magister Denarius.”

“I _fucking forbid it,”_ Dorian suddenly snapped, his face darkening as she said the name. He looked pissed. “Anyone _but_ him. He might think it’s a trap.”

Thalia gave him a cold smile. “Whether or not you forbid it, this is going to happen anyway.”

~:~

Despite their attempts, Adhlea refused to budge. She retired to the only other bedroom not long after Dorian tried to forbid her; Adhlea tried not to let her own fears get in the way.

The door opened behind her. From just the feel, she could tell it was Solas.

“You’re going to yell at me, aren’t you?” She sat on the huge bed.

“No.” He closed the door. “I do not quite understand why you choose to do this, but if you can trust the Divine here…”

Adhlea snorted. “ _Trust_ doesn’t factor into this. The Divine needs to train mages to stem any attempted attack from the Qunari; what better way than to use elves?” She forced a laugh. “He’s a fucking _bastard._ And he knows it, too. But he’s _smart._ Having me do two favors for him – this one, and the Archon – guarantees _me_ one favor from him; he’s already giving me access to the library for information on Corypheus.”

Solas sighed. “ _Da’len –“_

“My name is Adhlea, Solas.” Adhlea swallowed. “You’ve more than earned the right; you _have_ saved my life twice.” She turned to look at him. “If something _does_ go wrong, if the Archon doesn’t die, then could you…” She trailed off. “No. I ask far too much of you now.”

“I have followed any orders you have given me previously, _da’len.”_

“Adhlea.” She felt a small smile on her face. “Call me by my name, Solas.”

“I do not think that wise, Inquisitor.” His voice returned to being careful rather than gentle. “Where would you have me meet you?”

Adhlea swallowed one last time.

“In Wycome,” she said, turning to him. “My clan resides there. There’s a ship; we’d only arrive at Skyhold a few days after Vivienne, if she follows my direction.”

“And if you don’t go there?”

“I will.” She nodded. “If the Archon doesn’t die in a week _exactly_ after I am injured, Solas, go to Wycome.” She took a deep breath. “Tell Keeper Istimaethoriel that I sent you, and tell her of Skyhold. She will welcome you.”

“Even without a _vallaslin?”_

Adhlea met his eyes. “When you meet Keeper Istimaethoriel, you will understand, I think.”


	54. Chapter 54

Hawke slipped into Maevaris Tilani’s home without any thought to the consequences. She’d hide there until night, then –

“Hawke.”

Hawke, embarrassingly, screamed and jumped, clutching her heart. “Andraste’s tits, Maevaris!”

“Not even close,” Maevaris deadpanned. “Why are you here?”

“My lover’s little sister might be in danger from Magister Denarius.” Hawke noted the exhaustion that suddenly crossed Maevaris’ face.

“Is your lover’s sister, by any chance, Inquisitor Lavellan?”

“I don’t know. Is she a rather pretty redhead with magenta eyes?” Hawke had eyes, even if she wasn’t into women.

“That’s her,” Maevaris agreed. “She got injured. Magister Denarius has the antidote to the poison in her system at his estate, so he’s taking her back there.” Hawke felt cold all over.

“Of _course_ he does!” Hawke shouldered her pack. “Got to go, thanks for the information, Magister!”

She slid out the way she came, hopped upon a passing horse tethered to a carriage – she was able to glimpse a bit of the crest as she cut the leads of the horse, this was the fucking _Divine’s_ carriage. Hawke flicked her reins, ignoring the yell, and shot off with the horse.

Hawke forgot to tell Maevaris to send Fenris back, but hopefully they’d meet on the road back. Either way, Hawke hoped she could get ahead of any carriage holding the elf.

Who was she kidding? This was probably a ploy to get Fenris back, _if_ he knew they were related. Neither Hawke nor Fenris were sure of his original hair color, so –

 _Varaina._ The chances of the magister _not_ noticing the similarities went down to zero. With a fluid swear, Hawke drove the horse faster.

The Champion of Kirkwall, not just Marina Hawke, focused to a single point.

~:~

Zevran Arainai ran into Fenris two days after leaving after his latest job. For a long moment, both elves glared at each other in the middle of the road.

“ _Fenris!”_

Zevran moved to the left, anticipating Hawke’s lightning ball. Fenris shifted, the ball of magic just passing his face.

Hawke stopped the horse – a carriage horse, judging by how the horse was covered with sweat and almost foaming at the mouth – next to them before jumping off.

“She’s not in Minrathous,” the woman said to Fenris, looking awful. “I just came from there.”

“Minrathous is a day away,” Fenris said, turning his gaze to her worriedly.

“And a half,” Zevran volunteered, smiling at Marina. “Hello, Marina.”

“Hello, Zevran,” the Champion said, her eyes and voice flat. “Why are you here?”

“Well, if you _must_ know,” Zevran smiled, “I’m tracking a little something for a young lady. The little something was seen passing this way not a day ago, and I’m afraid I’m a little behind. So if you don’t _mind…”_ He picked the reins of his horse up.

“Who ordered it?” asked Hawke, pale.

“I… am not allowed to say,” Zevran replied. “The young woman asked for silence, and so far I’ve kept my word. Almost an entire boring month watching her, and this seems to be the one time I have some time at my leisure.”

“It’s the Inquisitor you’re following, isn’t it?” Hawke questioned, narrowing her eyes.

Zevran sighed. “What’s the point of having a secret – what are you doing, Hawke?”

“Making fucking sure you’re doing your fucking job,” Hawke snapped into his ear after she’d climbed up behind him. “Seeing as the woman in _question_ is Fenris’ little sister and has just been _kidnapped_ by the magister who wants Fenris back, _go!”_

She kicked the horse into starting.

“Are you certain, Marina? I’ve barely seen anyone on this road!”

“He must have taken a direct route to Solas,” Zevran’s words were unhurried. “There’s two passes that are possible, though when you take into account the possibility he was traveling in a party, that goes down to one, _if_ he didn’t go single-file.”

“Why?” Marina demanded at his back.

“Because one of them,” Zevran said with a smile, turning off the road, “is a cliffside. One mistake of the horse and you’re fucked, so _normally_ you’d not take it if you didn’t want to risk anything.”

“We’re taking it, aren’t we?”

“Keep your legs out of the saddle, and if the horse falls I am _almost_ positive I can keep you from dying!”

~:~

“I found it.” The elf man that had been at Redcliffe dropped a book down on the table after slipping into the Magisterium library while they were all sleeping. Felix looked at it with confusion. “I found a single mention of Corypheus in the entire library.”

“Does it have his _real_ name?” Felix got looks from everyone as he spoke.

“ _You_ knew it wasn’t his real name?” Felix nodded, frowning.

“Father said that he’d been held by the Wardens for over a thousand years. If _I_ were, I would give the Wardens a fake name so my House wasn’t spoiled; that is, if his House remains.” Felix had his doubts it didn’t, if only so some would gloat about being descended from a powerful magister who seemed to have cheated death itself.

“You’re awake!” Dorian looked delighted. And much, _much_ more alive than his doom-and-gloom self when Felix had last seen him. “You actually do look a lot better.” Dorian looked concerned more than anything. Felix nodded.

“I feel a lot better,” he said, looking towards the Orlesian woman. “Where is the Inquisitor, by the way?”

The Orlesian woman offered Felix a tight smile. “Doing what she does best – getting into _ridiculous_ trouble for a simple favor.”

He noticed the cold look the elf shot the Orlesian woman.

He decided not to ask.

“We were going to leave your care to Magister Tilani,” Dorian said, bringing Felix’s attention to him. “However, as you’re awake, it’s clear we need to leave.”

“Yes, the deadline was yesterday and he’s not dead,” the elf said. “I’m not headed to the port we previously were at; the Inquisitor asked I meet her in Wycome.”

The Orlesian woman flicked her wrist. “That will be a few days longer.”

The elf shook his head. “At most, two. The Inquisitor assured me of this. We should arrive at Skyhold about two days after you, if nothing goes wrong.”

“Can I come with you?” He looked to Dorian. “I’m pretty sure House Alexius has been barred from the Magisterium.”

Dorian snorted. “Very well. We might be able to take care of that blight in you.”

“I won’t give my hopes up,” Felix said dryly. “Might as well die under a flag I can feel pride under.” And wasn’t _that_ telling; he chose the Inquisition that might give him a chance to redeem his name rather than his birthplace, which he had grown up in and practically _ordered_ to believe in. He’d lost faith quickly, in Tevinter, when his father followed the Venatori.


	55. Chapter 55

_Cassandra Pentaghast-_

_Lord Seeker Lucius and most of the templar order is gone. I’m following them, but it’s not going to be easy. I do not believe Lord Seeker Lucius is truly behind this. Do not call me naïve; I am well aware of his capabilities. I’m leaving this letter behind in the hopes you’ll receive it before it’s too late._

_Lord Seeker Lucius’ behavior has been strange since before the incident in Haven – ever since he summoned a demon and slew it. He could be possessed, but he was strong. Or we could entertain the possibility Lord Seeker has been dead and the demon itself took over his role._

_I’ll write you when I find out._

_-Daniel_

[ _notation_ – Found this in the rubble of Therinfal Redoubt, partially hidden by a body. Unsure if it is the writer or not. Seeker needed to advise. Krem.]

Cassandra, after days of hard riding, stared at the body with a hard look.

“Not my former apprentice,” she remarked, standing as she turned to the Charger. Krem straightened.

“Great, we can burn this body, too.”

“Did you see a man that looked like this?” Cassandra had, with help from Blackwall and Varaina – who was next to her in full Enchanter’s robes, looking disgustedly at the body – had the Lord Seeker’s visage sketched on a page.

“Yes,” Krem said after eyeing it. “He was rotting in the dungeon; though, really, it was only his insides. Talis said it was a preservation spell of some kind.” Krem shrugged. “Burned him where he was after realizing most of him was squishy on the inside.”

“His insides practically _became_ his insides,” Dalish said, making a face. “ _That’s_ why I used the _torch to light him on fire.”_

“Mm, right,” Krem said, looking exasperated. “The _torch._ Now, can we burn _his_ body? I’d like to think having them burned is the best way to get rid of the lyrium taint.”

Cassandra nodded. “If Varric is to be believed, red lyrium is similar to darkspawn. Try not to bite your nails.”

“Why wasn’t the letter sent?” Varaina questioned, her brown eyes wide.

“Probably because when most of the Seekers were gone, there was no need for birds. Daniel probably thought it would be best to follow and did not have time to teach a bird to deliver a message.”

Varaina nodded. “I see. Do you think Varric would have more ideas on the red lyrium?”

“Possibly,” Cassandra reluctantly admitted. “Let us return to Skyhold and interrogate him there.”

~:~

 _“Red lyrium?”_ Varric could feel the blood drain out of his face. Fighting corrupted soldiers infused with it? He’d suspected something _like_ what had happened to Meredith in Kirkwall had happened to the templars, but – hearing that the Seekers were being infused with it made him sick.

“Yes. Oh, right.” Cassandra slid a long sheaf of parchment to Varric. “Read this quickly. It is the Herald – the _Inquisitor’s_ – account of what happened a year from now.” Varric’s brows shot up.

“But that’s impossible,” the dwarf muttered. “I’m no magical expert, but time travel – you can’t. It’s impossible.”

“Apparently it was only possible whilst the Breach was still open,” Cassandra said, “and it is how the former Grand Enchanter did and did _not_ meet the Inquisitor in Val Royeaux.

Varric read as quickly as he could. _Fiona had red lyrium growing out of her. As she was in pain – in extreme amounts – I took it upon myself to end her misery. The Iron Bull, Sera, and Solas were all infused with red lyrium. Sera was a bit more insane, the Iron Bull – not really sure, and Solas was… Solas. Perhaps it affects the races differently?_

Damn. He’d not thought of it like that. But if that was the case –

“Seekers are naturally resistant to lyrium,” Cassandra said when Varric stopped reading and pointed out the passage with ‘maybe it reacts differently’. “And obviously, templars are… not.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong…

“Well, what happened to the Grand Enchanter seems to be a fluke, if anything.” Varric scowled. “I’ll send some messages. Hopefully, no lyrium deposits turned red, but if they are, they’ll need to be destroyed.” Varric shoved Dahlia’s report back to Cassandra. “I should have an answer by the time the Inquisitor comes back. If I don’t, then my contacts suck.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

~:~

“Don’t tell me _what?”_ Dinlaselan asked, tilting her head; a remnant of the Grey Warden she had been entered the elf’s posture.

Alistair swallowed as he turned from Anora, who clutched a letter addressed to Doshiel from the Inquisition.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“Alistair!” Anora hissed.

Dinlaselan leaned against the column. “Don’t tell me it’s another Blight,” she said, lazily. “I’ve not heard a Calling, yet. Honestly, just whispers in my head.” Alistair flicked a glance at the seemingly unconcerned posture of the other elf. “Don’t worry, Ali. No Warden ceases to hear the whisper of the Calling.”

“Then you will not like the news the Inquisition has sent,” Anora said.

“ _Anora!”_ Alistair glared at his queen, who arched a forbidding brow at him.

“What? _I’m_ not willing to piss her off.”

The queen tossed the letter at Dinlaselan, who caught it. The ex-Grey Warden got paler as she read the letters on the page before glancing up at Anora and Alistair.

“You’ve _got_ to be fucking kidding me,” the woman said, paler than the white column she now sagged against. “Someone _resurrected a fucking archdemon?”_

“Corypheus,” Alistair supplied. “I knew you’d –“

“Alistair, stop. Please.” Anora was giving him a pleading look.

Alistair shut up.

Dinlaselan took a deep breath, crumpling the missive in her palm before stalking from the room.

A scream, hair-raising and fucking _frustrated beyond belief,_ exited the ex-Warden’s mouth as she let it out outside the throne room, mostly so that people wouldn’t think she was murdering Alistair and Anora.

The next day Dinlaselan announced she was heading back to the Dales to grab her armor she’d left with her clan.


	56. Chapter 56

When Adhlea woke up, she was certain it was only hours after the arrow had gone through her body. Murmurs faded in an out; her head started to throb in agony like she’d gotten a nasty sunburn.

She moved her hand up –

Another hand caught hers.

“You’re awake.”

 _A familiar voice._ She blinked, squinting in the sunlight. She looked at a face she vaguely recognized – pale white hair, blue eyes, lyrium brands – _my brother, but not Syven._ She frowned, feeling the fresh hell that was her face throb angrily in response; she let her face smooth out. “Who are you?”

“Damn.” A different, still familiar, female voice. “Memory loss.”

She frowned, pain reminding her again just how much of a terrible idea that was, looking over. A woman with short brown hair and a blood-stripe across her nose stared at her with a similar expression of worry.

“I expected it. She got hers closer to the mind; wouldn’t be surprised if they damaged something.” The white-haired man kept holding her hand, fiddling with it. “Adhlea.” His voice was calm. “There was a magister in Tevinter that did this to you. We’re nearing Wycome now.”

They were in a _coach?_ As she thought that, she realized that it was just smoother than she was used to.

“She’s not likely to remember Tevinter if she can’t –“

“I remember getting shot by an Antivan Crow’s arrow,” she interrupted, frowning. “I remember –“

Like the pothole she felt as she spoke, she remembered. Not everything, but Hawke and Fenris. Lyrium. Getting shot by a poisoned arrow, then – then nothing. _That_ was a blank.

“What did he do?” Her voice was worried. High. “What did that fucker _do to me?”_

She reached for her magic, trying to even _feel_ for it, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t feel the Fade. She couldn’t – she _couldn’t fucking feel her magic._

“Hey.” Fenris grasped her hands, calming her. “We’ll figure it out. Just – calm down, s-s- _sister.”_

The fact that he made an effort was appreciated. But it didn’t help her situation.

“I am a _mage,”_ she growled at him, trying to push away the emptiness and search. “I am a fucking _mage_ and I will _not_ cease to be!”

She yanked her hands from his grasp and touched her _vallaslin,_ hoping that it might ease any ache.

Almost like magic, it did; it was a balm to her head as she cleared her mind. She took a few deep breaths, then opened her eyes.

Fenris was looking at her with guilt. No. Not at _her._ At her _vallaslin._ She realized that she _felt it._

It was raised.

Raised _vallaslin_ usually only happened if the keeper was incompetent. For her entire life, Adhlea had never _actually_ felt her _vallaslin_ save for a few of the branches that branched off the main branch, and only then it was at the part where they did so. Syven had had a remarkable skill doing hers.

Mythal’s _vallaslin_ went under her eyes; when it was fully complete, one could see some of the ones marked with Mythal’s _vallaslin_ under the lip. Adhlea had eventually planned to finish it, but now –

She could feel every inch of her _vallaslin._ Every-single- _fucking-inch._

Adhlea tended to cry very easily, so honestly it wasn’t a surprise she burst into tears at the thought of her _vallaslin,_ the thing she chose because she wanted to protect others and _maybe_ be protected, too, had been sullied by lyrium. She couldn’t even feel the soothing hum of magic in her veins or feel the fucking _Anchor_ in her hand.

She lost _everything_ that mattered to her.

~:~

Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan was _not_ an idiot, no matter what her mother might say. Deshanna claimed only the insight into certain situations that she was granted, letting the wisdom of the People guide her. Deshanna didn’t know _everything_. She knew just _enough_ ; enough to say the right things at the right time with the right, knowing eyes.

Her clan always shied away from her knowing eyes when she was younger yet followed her as blindly as they’d followed Isanami when she’d come into her own as Keeper.

This insight was both a curse and a blessing. A curse, when specific things that would be good for the People came about directly in her path – where she had to choose a path and follow it, consequences be damned – and a blessing, for once a path was chosen, Deshanna was rewarded with the knowledge of her choice.

One example would be Adhlea, had she not been forced to marry Gaspard.

Adhlea would have gone to the Conclave as a spy of Clan Lavellan. She would build her allies through sheer will alone; make enemies through that as well.

She would never meet Fenris nor Varaina. Varaina would have died, Fenris would never have known about Adhlea; Adhlea would – as far as Deshanna thought she could see – die from the green mark.

Yet – with the marriage, Adhlea would have more allies than she thought. She would tie the races together almost like she was a net around a school of a thousand different fish.

She would also almost die quite a few more times.

Perhaps the only thing Deshanna did not quite count on was the Dread Wolf.

As footsteps crunched down outside the aravel, Deshanna broke off her chastisement of Ghimyean and turned, her eyes meeting his.

 _You best take the Dread Wolf by the ear when he comes_ , the voice of Isanami barked in her head.

_Shut up, Mother._

Deshanna smiled. “Hello, traveler,” she greeted, warmly.

“I am here on behalf of Adhlea,” the Dread Wolf informed her.

_Adhlea? How does he know her?_

“I see,” Deshanna replied. “I am Keeper Istimaethoriel, traveler.”

“Solas,” the elf replied, meeting her eyes.

 _Pride_.

“You are welcome in the Lavellan Clan, traveler,” she said. “All we request that in return for you having food and shelter you help my kinsmen.”

The Dread Wolf inclined his head. “It would be my pleasure,” he lied.

Deshanna could see through lies, too.

“Follow me, traveler,” she said, gesturing to him.

She felt him following.

~:~

Ghimyean narrowed his eyes as Hallen looked impressed.

“You managed to get out of a scolding.” Hallen said with a chuckle.

“Shut up, Hallen.” Ghimyean shifted his feet. “Keeper’s never had that look on her face before.”

Unease had flickered across the Keeper’s face before she’d turned to see a stranger from the city standing there, mentioning the Eternal Second’s name.

_What have you done now, sister?_

Their Keeper seemed partially distracted; Ghimyean had always endured scoldings as they came from his mother-figure. She never broke off in the middle of a scolding.

“Ghimyean, come on! We don’t have time for you to stare at her!”

Ghimyean hefted his quiver and followed Hallen.

~:~

Deshanna gestured to a tent that was always empty. “You may have this tent, Wolf.”

The elf jerked, his eyes widening.

Deshanna smiled at him. “It would be appreciated if you helped the hunters when they come back.”

She left to attend to her other kinsmen.

Three days and he waited, getting more and more tense with each passing one. He had his bags packed, kept well away from the other elves; Deshanna did not ask much of him, simply that he light the fire or help the hunters.

He did, without complaining.

Then a _shem_ approached. It was rare that they came directly to the clan; it was clear she wasn’t from around them, yet she seemed relieved to see the camp.

“Is there a Keeper Isti – fuck, I can’t say the super long name – is this Adhlea Lavellan’s clan?”

“Where is she?” The Dread Wolf stood, striding over to her.

The _shemlen_ rose her hands in universal surrender. “Look, she asked for her keeper. She’s twelve paces in the woods; she said she didn’t want to be seen by anyone but the Keeper.” The shem gestured towards her back. “I carry no staff and my companions are both elves. If you are Solas, she’s requested you leave Wycome without her.”

“I refuse.” The Dread Wolf clasped his arms behind his back.

“He comes, too,” Deshanna allowed. “No matter what, my foolish _da’len_ entrusted her name to him. He will follow. As will you, _shem.”_

She strode forward, heading to where she was told, feeling for her magic.

Her eyes narrowed as she withdrew her staff. A fire was lit in the forest, she could see.

She walked without hesitation, the Keeper staring at the red hair. It _was_ her, but why could Deshanna not –

Adhlea turned. Her _vallaslin_ was lit blue. Something cold burned deep in Deshanna.

“Keeper.” Adhlea’s voice was unsteady.

“Come here, _da’len.”_

She opened her arms wide for her Second.

“Who did this to you?” She touched her ward’s face, just around the _vallaslin._ “Who dared try to sully the visible dedication you have to Mythal? Who dared to cut your connection to the Fade?”

“My…” Adhlea choked. “My fault, Keeper. I was a fool to think he’d keep his word!” Her ward buried her face in Deshanna’s chest, shaking and crying.

Deshanna’s fury grew.

“ _This is not your fault,”_ she said to the young woman. “You expected something to happen, not _this._ Whoever does this is a monster and should be killed. Immediately.”

“Oh, he was,” the white-haired elf next to a blonde elf said with a bloodthirsty grin. “I made _sure_ of it.”

“Mamae,” Adhlea gasped, looking up at her with watering eyes, “I can’t feel my magic!”

Deshanna’s eyes stung.

“For the night, and for the night only,” she said, glancing behind her, “you are allowed in my clan. Assuming, of course, you don’t mind sleeping under watch.”

The human shrugged. “So long’s nobody tries to kill me, I’m fine with it.”

~:~

Solas did not expect that.

It was one thing entirely to see a _vallaslin_ branded on a slave’s face incorrectly. It was another to see a _vallaslin_ over-branded with lyrium and forcing her connection to the Fade to break. It was horrible, and even though he knew it happened almost daily in Tevinter, he still felt so much _anger._ Perhaps it was because it was… _Adhlea._ Solas was not certain.

It was Deshanna who came to him, her eyes filled with rage.

“Dread Wolf,” she said, standing next to him. “I know you most likely do not care for us _shadows.”_ He looked to her sharply. It was one thing to know who he was; it was another for her to think and accept the truth of what the modern elves were. “But if you care for her at all – which, I believe you care about her as a student – I would ask one thing of you.” Her eyes were still fierce with that bright anger that was mimicked in Adhlea’s eyes – so similar that he _knew_ who she had been raised by – so he stayed and listened.

And he agreed. With all that she asked in mind, he stayed out of the Dalish clan that night, choosing instead to sleep in the clearing where the blonde elf had opted to stay in. The blonde elf did not move, but Solas knew the blonde elf would not live if the blonde elf decided to attack Solas.

The Dread Wolf started a hunt.

The Divine of Tevinter was dreaming of nothing; he was a mage with adequate control over his dreams, but not _quite_ enough to keep him out. Fen’Harel slipped into his dreamlessness and filled it with terrors; terrors of pain and servitude. He did not break the man’s mind, simply left a whisper.

_This is for her._

He had not planned on it. He did not think _rationally._ It would not even occur to him until much, much later what he had whispered in the Divine’s mind.


	57. Chapter 57

Adhlea stepped off the boat with Fenris and Hawke joining her and Solas; the Crow had vanished halfway to the ship in Wycome so Adhlea didn’t know if the Crow was still watching them or had left. Either way, the ma – _former mage_ didn’t care. She’d avoided them on the ship, paying for her own passage with the last of her halla statue money she’d completely forgotten to give to Deshanna.

She felt like she was dropping through quicksand. Her magic was _gone,_ though not her sense of where other mages were; somehow, she could feel Solas and Hawke at the edge of her awareness but unlike _before_ the Lavellan could not reach out. Could not nudge Solas’ magic playfully.

(Not as though she’d done so before. She’d been rather frightened he wouldn’t accept any playful magic nudges… Plus, it was difficult to explain just _what_ she was doing. She was used to doing it with Syven so much.)

Could not _learn magic from Solas._

They talked, avoiding stuff about magic; whenever something near that was brought up Adhlea flinched at the reminder.

She could remember everything – mostly – up to the point of the Crow’s arrow. She could remember nothing after it and only the vaguest of memories of what happened in the carriage and the first night with her clan.

 _We will follow you soon,_ da’len, her Keeper had told her right before Adhlea had boarded the ship. _Things here are… Unstable. I am getting everything ready to leave._

She’d spoken to Solas, of who had had a strange expression on his face as he’d listened; kissed Fenris on the forehead as though blessing him; and inclined her head to Hawke. Few humans had been tolerated and none before had _spent the night_ with her clan. Hawke was welcomed, even if it wasn’t with fully open arms.

Days bled through each other as they found a familiar path. They’d long since passed where Haven had once been situated – only knowing where it was because the Temple of Sacred Ashes’ ruins remained, untouched even by the avalanche Adhlea had caused – and only now traveled into Skyhold’s area.

Snow had piled up around the massive castle. Tiny flakes dusted their horses and their bodies as they entered, Adhlea pulling the cowl she’d had over her face down even further as well as her head. She did not want to be heralded; perhaps it was a good thing the castle was mostly empty save for the scouts above. Four riders were not much of a threat.

And Skyhold… Skyhold itself was dotted with mages. Adhlea could feel every one of them as she dismounted.

“Can one of you tell Leliana I’ll be in my rooms?” She did not look up to any of them as she asked that, then dashed away. Her feet pounded up flights of steps, forcing herself through clusters of people that muttered about how rude she was; mutters that cut short as soon as her Anchor caught their eyes.

She opened her door and slammed it shut, heart racing; she wearily climbed up the steps before she flopped on the ground in front of her bed.

She was never going to use magic again, she was certain of it.

~:~

The first time after she came back from Tevinter and saw her collection of staves in a closet full of them, she was hesitant to try one.

 _It can’t hurt_. Nobody had mentioned her face, though she did tend to go out with a mask on more often than not. She took the staff and flicked it in a practiced maneuver. Nothing. No miraculous surge of power. Adhlea dropped it, collapsing next to her staff, not actually looking at it.

 _I’m… powerless._ Adhlea stared at her Anchor hand, then looked at her normal one.

With a sudden surge of red, the small elven mage took the staff, stood, and broke it upon her knees. She grabbed more staves, breaking them as best as she could, removing the foci and dashing them to the floor. They rolled into corners of the floor; Adhlea couldn’t give a damn. She turned to the fireplace, then gathered the broken staves up and threw them in. She then collapsed on the bed, staring outside at the weather that matched how she hurt inside.

It was snowing.

~:~

“Dahlia, I need – woah.” Varric was unprepared for the coldness of the room, nor the darkness as he shut the door after hearing her call for him to come in. “Dahlia, light a fire in here or something, would ya?”

He ambled up the steps.

“You decent?”

Hearing a soft _yes,_ he continued forward. Scanning the room, he saw her sitting in front of the balcony doors; huge gusts of snow had piled nearly halfway up the balcony doors. She was bare-armed; Varric noted that no, Red Lily (her twin) had not been lying. Dahlia _did_ have muscles, even though they were not like Cassandra’s; they were hidden easily if she weren’t hugging her knees to her chest.

He noted the tear tracks down her face, halfway hidden by her legs. Lyrium, edging under her eyes and throwing her _vallaslin_ in sharp relief, Varric suddenly realized.

See, lyrium potions _did_ help. Short-term, at the most. Then they left one exhausted, barely able to fight. Mages couldn’t easily get hooked on lyrium due to the lyrium being drowned in other medicinal herbs and shit. Using it as a restorative – again, it only worked for a certain amount of time.

And – here was the fucking clincher – liquified, straight lyrium was the rare magebane poison; rare because barely anyone without Orzammar ties could get. And even then, Orzammar cooked the shit up and gave it to Circles in strict quantities.

Varric only knew this because of _his_ own ties to Orzammar, as small and limited as they were. He had no fucking desire to know why this young woman had been _branded_ with lyrium in Tevinter.

“Hey, kid.” She probably wasn’t much younger than Varric, but – she looked so _young_ right then. Her red eyes – both figurative _and_ literally red eyes – glanced to him, before she tugged her legs tighter together. “What happened?”

“I…” She looked away. “It doesn’t matter, Varric. What is it you want?”

“Well. That can wait for Leliana.” Varric sat down next to her. “Did I ever tell you of the story where Daisy used blood magic to summon a bunch of nugs?”

“Merrill summoned nugs?”

“On accident.” Varric leaned against Dahlia’s bedpost. “We were all ready to face a possible invasion thanks to Hawke kicking the Arishok’s ass in single combat; Merrill decided to use a summoning circle she’d learned from watching another mage or some shit. Well, the only army that came was a fucking _nug army.”_

“Mmm.” She sounded… uninterested.

“Damn, usually that gets a laugh. What’s wrong, kid?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the mage whispered. “If you don’t want anything, Varric, please –“

“Dahlia, you’re sitting in a cold room, staring at the snow without lights.” Varric stopped her before she could try to bullshit her way out of it. “I’m asking because I’m genuinely concerned. The Merrill story was just to get your spirits up. Now, you _will_ tell me what’s wrong.”

She hesitated a moment longer.

“I can’t feel magic.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “I can’t _use_ magic anymore, Varric.”

She sniffled.

“I can’t remember what happened in Tevinter,” she said, burying her head into her knees, “but I’m… I’m so damn sad and _scared.”_ There was a pause. Varric was unsure how to respond to that but didn’t have the chance to as she asked a question Varric should have eventually seen coming. “Merrill… Merrill was Tranquil, she said, before she was able to use blood magic, right?”

Varric let out a low expletive.

“No.” Varric stared out at the snow. “It was a botched attempt to _make_ her Tranquil, yes. Merrill was never _completely_ Tranquil. She couldn’t use _most_ of her magic after that for a while.”

“I see.” Misery coated the ex-mage’s voice.

Varric… Was at a true loss to help her.

“I’ll grab Leliana or –“

“Calia.” She lifted her head, briefly. “Calia would help.” Varric tried to remember who Calia _was,_ but gave up as he stood, deciding to let Leliana send this Calia to Dahlia.

“Alright, I’ll send Calia up.” Besides, Alexius’ trial was later; she’d need that Calia to get her down, more than likely.

~:~

 _Don’t be alarmed when you see her,_ Leliana had instructed Calia on bringing out her mistress. _She is hurting, and it is not entirely physical._

Calia swallowed and entered the room. There were no candles lighting the room. It was like an ice-box.

“My lady? It is I, Calia. Miss Nightingale asked me to retrieve you to judge the magister?”

“I’ll be down shortly, Calia.” The quiet voice of the Grand Duchess was scratchy and sad. “Would you be so kind as to bring some heated water up before I return?”

“Of course, my lady.” Calia knew the Grand – er, the _Inquisitor_ was a mage and had frequently re-heated water, but did not ask because she was not an idiot. “Miss Nightingale gave me some masks for you, my lady. She said you requested them?”

There was a rustle and a sigh. “Come on up, Calia.”

Calia stepped up.

“Mistress Lavellan, I –“

Her words faltered, her eyes alighting on the glowing blue lyrium markings that so clearly lighted her _vallaslin._

“They’re… Strange, aren’t they?” Like all elves, Calia had the ability to see in the dark. The Inquisitor was huddled on the edge of her bed, a thin blanket wrapped around herself. “Can you light the fire? I think it’s getting cold.”

Calia headed over to light the flint. She knelt to light the logs – only to pause.

“My lady, these are your staves!”

“Broken, yes. Useless to me. Speaking of them… I’d like my entire collection of them given to the apostates. I’d rather not look at them. Can you hand me a mask?”

Calia swallowed, lit the fire, and walked back to where she’d dropped them before placing one on the bed.

“I’ll let the apostates _borrow_ your staves,” Calia said, her voice firm. “You’ll need them eventually.”

“No, I won’t. Get –“

“What if you need to bash an enemy, my lady?” Calia drew herself up to her full height as she interrupted her lady. “And all you’ve got to do so is a staff? _Idiocy,_ my lady, is not using the resources available to you.” Calia gave her a small smile. “I’ve got no magic and _I’ve_ used a staff to hit someone.”

“You? _You_ hit someone?” Her mistress sounded more alive. “With a _staff?”_

“I was employed by a Circle briefly,” Calia admitted. “I hit a templar with a staff to stop him from killing a mage. Lady Trevelyan was most grateful. I believe it was Miss Allana who was to be killed.”

“Wow, Calia.” The Grand Duchess fit her mask on her face, this time with an entirely different purpose. “You are full of surprises indeed.”

Calia bowed. “I try my best, my lady. If I might be bold for one moment longer?” At her lady’s nod, Calia spoke once more. “Ser Krem of the Chargers was wondering if you were up for training with them; they’re always looking for good archers to help teach their newbies.” Calia wrinkled her nose. “Not sure if that’s a nice term or not…”

“Tell him I’ll think about it,” the Inquisitor murmured. “For now, let us go.”

Calia nodded, letting her stand first.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yenera's past is revealed...

Gereon Alexius was not afraid of anyone. But as the door opened, showing the Inquisitor who’d survived Death thrice… He thought he should comply to whatever sentence he got as he got the most dead look he’d ever seen in a living being’s eyes. Whatever happened, he should cackle and dance; but he felt a chill course through him as the Inquisitor settled in her Andrastrian throne, just staring at him with those dead, unemotional eyes.

“You said,” she said, suddenly, her voice a monotone, “you just did it for your son. Sentencing you to death would be a mercy, Magister; but you have valuable wisdom in that mind of yours. Be grateful your student and son suggested a worthwhile punishment aside from death.” She took a deep breath. “Former Magister Gereon Alexius, you are hereby sentenced to living out your life in service to the mages you enslaved.”

_Elven bitch!_

Her dead eyes bore into his.

He swallowed and settled down, even as he was forced up and the Inquisitor vanished back to her quarters.

~:~

_Thalia,_

_The name change was a bit… surprising, as was your new position. I will be arriving at the Inquisition stronghold soon. Perhaps we could discuss things then?_

_Gaspard de Chalons_

~:~

Yenera of the Dales did not particularly know the Inquisitor. It was plain to see when one was practically drowning; maybe that’s why Yenera wasn’t fighting with that Qunari bastard in the courtyard and instead helping mages search out Rift-shit; well, that’s what she was _supposed_ to be doing.

Instead, she was watching the three Tevene mages argue with each other, people watching with looks of curiosity.

“- _branding_ people with fucking _lyrium_ okay? _Especially when you know it cuts them off!”_

“They’re _dangerous,”_ the fucking magister being punished said.

“Who are?” Yenera had tuned in too late. The fire-mage turned to her, his eyes burning. Almost literally.

“Elven mages,” he spat. “Tevinter branding their elven slaves means that the elven mages cannot connect to the Fade. It’s similar to Tranquility.”

Yenera tilted her head. “Is that the term for the Empty Ones? The ones who cannot do anything but what they’re ordered to?” The mage nodded. Yenera turned to Alexius with a frown. “My mother was Tranquil.” Her frown turned into a scowl. “My father was never the same after the templar did that. Do you know what being Tranquil feels like?” The three shook their heads. “I don’t either. My mother did. When my father ordered her to tell him how she felt, she was smiling. Guess what she said?” Yenera leaned forward, hearing nothing but the breaths of the silently library and the fluttering of wings. Fresh paint drifted from below. “She said, _‘Everything and nothing. I feel like the world is dying and I feel like I’m screaming and clawing and trying to use my magic. I feel like dying.’_ Tevinter is the shittiest place on Earth, if you Tranquil-ize everyone.”

“Oh no, Tevinter doesn’t,” the dark-haired mage said, glaring back down at the man sitting at the table. “In fact, _I_ didn’t know what happened to elves. I merely assumed they were collared, that the _non-mages_ were branded. I didn’t know that _all_ mages that are elves are branded. Have you ever branded one of them, Gereon?”

“Never above the age of seven,” the man ground out, presumably from the grasp the younger Tevene male was holding him with. “They did not know magic then; it was safer.”

“Leaving them free will, then?” Yenera furrowed her brow. “Is it safer?”

“Hardly.” Yenera turned to see a white-haired elf standing by a stack. He had lyrium brands on his throat. “Theoretically, they wouldn’t remember having magic or how it felt. They can go insane, more often than not. I wasn’t a mage,” he said, gesturing to his brands. “I asked for them to free my mother and sister. Not that Varaina was grateful; we have two younger siblings because of what I did.”

“How old were you?”

Fenris shrugged.

“My sister is about ten years younger than I,” the white-haired man mused, “and Varaina about four. So ten. Give or take a year.”

“Unless your master was unreasonable, he shouldn’t have given a non-mage the brands,” the oldest Tevinter magister snapped. “Why do you ask this of me?”

“Is there a way to remove the brands, Father?”

The youngest Tevene in the group stilled them all. He was looking at his father with unfathomable eyes.

“My son…”

“ _Tell him!”_ Yenera glared at the oldest magister. “Your son is dying and that’s all he’s asked, from what I heard – so _tell him.”_

The magister hesitated. Then he sighed. “Possibly. I never entertained the idea. It was such a similar ritual to Tranquility that it never crossed my mind.”

Yenera slammed her axe into the table. It cleaved in half.

“I’m going to tell you this once,” Yenera said, leaning down with dark eyes. “You don’t help us find a way I will _personally_ hang you by your unmentionables outside and make damn certain you don’t die. _Am I understood?”_

Yenera had seen the edges of the blue markings on the Inquisitor’s face. She connected the dots.

“Who got branded?”

It was Yenera that answered the unknown voice, despite the brunette Tevene paling.

“The Inquisitor,” she answered, roughly, moving her eyes to see the giant Qunari with a redheaded Dalish elf on the top of the stairs.

The temperature seemed to drop. No, didn’t _seem._ It _did._

“Who. Did. It.”

“Someone dead,” Fenris replied. “Someone I made _very fucking certain_ wouldn’t be doing it to anyone else, Galifalon.”

_Wasn’t that the Inquisitor’s brother’s name? Shit. Oops._

~:~

Yenera found herself accosted by the leader of the apostate mages.

“I heard about your mother being Tranquil,” the woman said, speaking quickly and yet still slow enough to get her point across. “But… If she could _feel_ , she wasn’t Tranquil. Not all the way. By the way, I’m Elaine.”

Yenera nodded, her face not changing as she did so; Elaine’s eyes widened. “It’s similar to the Inquisitor’s situation.” The Adaar woman frowned at the human. “May I ask why you wish to know about my mother?”

Elaine flushed. “Oh, well – actually, I wanted to know if you were secretly a mage?”

Yenera shook her head. “Nah. My mother was an elf mage,” Yenera revealed, “but that useless piece of shit of a blood father I had was not. My mother killed him,” Yenera informed Elaine with no trace of a smile, “after she found out he was kidnapping people and taking them to Par Vollen to be brainwashed by the Qun. She fled with me and married another – an elf, who surprisingly accepted me – but was found anyway.” Yenera scowled. “I… wanted to find a cure, but by the time I was old enough, Mother passed away.” She looked down. “I left ‘cause I didn’t want the elf to think I was burdening him. It was hard, having to help Mother and I was just… not fit for company.” Yenera blinked at Elaine, shoving the dusty memories back. “So that’s my tragic backstory. What’s yours?”

“Ah, I don’t actually have one,” Elaine admitted. “I come from a noble house, and I was sent to the Circle in Ostwick by my mother when I turned fifteen. Fifteen years later, here I am.”

“Wow,” Yenera snorted. “Tragic.” Elaine punched Yenera on the arm.

“How are you fitting in with the Inquisition?” Elaine asked, eyeing her seriously.

“As I’m _still_ the only other Adaar ‘round here, I get the darkest looks ever,” Yenera admitted. “Second only to the whispers about the servants and the Inquisitor and her kin.”

Elaine’s eyes sharpened. “That’s right – you said your mother was an elf.”

“Uvun Boranehn,” Yenera said with a wistful smile. Her mother’s white hair was the one thing Yenera had inherited – that, and her skin. Yenera’s skin bronzed easily. Her mother’s brother was also not a mage, a redheaded man named Revassan of Clan Boranehn. “So, I’m technically a Dalish Adaar. Ha.” Yenera snorted. “Elf-blooded or not, I’m still as tall and strong as a Qunari warrior. Can’t do much about that. I’ll just have to endure the looks.”

“Hmm.” Elaine was scowling. “It’s not right. Elves and Qunari are the top-hated – sorry, _Adaar_ ,” she apologized to Yenera.

“Nah, it’s fine. So long’s the Qunari bastard doesn’t call me one of him then I’ll not say a word. And yeah, elves and Adaar are the most hated species, though I don’t get why the elves are,” Yenera frowned.

Elaine shrugged. “Thousands of years of mutual hatred, actually, between humans and elves. They _were_ enslaved by Tevinter – a bunch of humans – for about a thousand years until Andraste rose up and helped free them.”

“Andraste was human,” Yenera pointed out.

“True,” conceded Elaine. “But some elves, some Andrastrian elves, say that Andraste had a lover, an elf named Shartan. It’s not proven, nor will it probably ever be.” Elaine shrugged. “I’ll do what I can on my end to stop the glares, but I’m not sure if it will work.”

Yenera smiled. “You’re the first person _not_ to, other than the Inquisitor and her kin when we met.”

“Lady Trevelyan!” Elaine turned her head. “Allana needs your help to subdue a monster in the mess hall!”

Elaine scowled. “It seems like my idiot sister requires my attention. It was nice speaking with you, Mistress Bore –“

“Call me Yenera,” Yenera called to her back as she hurried away. Elaine flashed an awkward smile over her shoulder to the Adaar. Yenera smiled.


	59. A Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bonding moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...maybe I just really wanted to indulge in my need to have Adhlea have some actual FUN.

The servant girl who had faced the Empress after accusing a lord of assault stared at him with fire in her eyes.

“I’m going with you,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “if only to be sure you don’t cause the miss pain.” Calia – or something to that name – opened the door to his wife’s chambers. He’d sensed the number of hostile eyes on him; he made very sure to not show he could sense them. He stepped into the barely-lit room. “Miss, the Grand Duke has arrived!” There was a mad-sounding rustle.

“I’m decent!”

Calia slipped past him, stepping up and lighting lamps as Gaspard stepped in, to face her after months. She wasn’t looking at him, but out the window. The snow wailed outside.

“Thalia.” She didn’t move. “It suits you.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” she said, turning her head a little.

Gaspard saw the blue lines. “What happened?”

She sighed. “I agreed to something that I shouldn’t have and lost my magic.” She gestured to her face. “Now, I have to wear masks because someone _defiled_ my _vallaslin._ I am a mage without magic. I might as well be _Tranquil.”_

Calia cleared her throat. “Miss.”

“What? It’s true.”

She turned to him fully. Blue lit up her face; Gaspard’s brows shot up. They were… really beautiful, in reality.

“I think,” he said, “they look beautiful.”

A brow rose. “Seriously? They’re _lyrium,_ branded onto my skin! You’re not a mage, Gaspard. Have you ever…” She paused, then pressed her hand to her heart. “I used to feel it, like a heartbeat,” she said, hollowly. “I could bend fucking _fire_ to my will. I could summon a fireball and I could…” She stopped, Gaspard taking another step to see her eyes were covered with a sheen of tears. “I could threaten my _brother_ with my fireballs and we could fight with _magic._ I could feel the _Fade,_ right beneath my fingertips. I could fucking _feel the Anchor._ Now, I try to reach for it and there’s a _block_ that I can’t get through and I’m _drowning because I want it back.”_ Her face twisted. “Solas said _Thalia_ was an apt name for me. Now… Now it’s useless. _I’m_ use –“

“No.” Gaspard interrupted her. She looked at him, looking lost. “Calienne… Calienne couldn’t use magic, during the last three years of her life. She could touch it, but she was so ill it hurt. That, I think, is what killed her.” Calienne had been wicked and beautiful and helped Gaspard’s plans because she _wanted_ to. She had been the woman he’d fallen in love with before she’d died. “You… You are far different from Calienne. You are stronger than her in different ways.”

Thalia wasn’t _great_ at playing the Game; even ill Calienne had been a master. Calienne, on the other hand, could not wield a weapon and wasn’t bold about much, even in her mastery of the Game; Thalia was _bold_ in leading an entire organization that remained completely an utterly neutral from _anyone._ Gaspard had mourned Calienne for six years before choosing a random elf he didn’t even know was a mage. For _four fucking years_ his wife had managed to hide her being a mage, for Maker’s sake! It was only _happenstance_ he’d found out!

“If I thought you _useless,_ I wouldn’t have come looking for you outside Verchiel,” he reminded her. “Or had my guards escort you and your brother to ensure you’d return.”

“No, but Gaspard.” She shook her head. “ _This_ is what you threatened my entire clan with.” She stared at him. “You threatened them with _this._ ”

She gestured shakily to her face.

“Not,” Gaspard said, lowly, “my finest moment.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t actually know if there were Tevinter slavers nearby.”

She stared at him with wide eyes.

“You were _bluffing?!”_

He winced. “Yes.”

She threw up her hands. “Keeper Deshanna, how the _fuck were you fooled?”_

“Not sure she was,” Gaspard muttered to himself. The Keeper had hesitated, staring into his eyes before he’d seen pain flicker over her face. And resignation before vitriol had taken over.

Adhlea stared at him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! That’s _just_ what I needed to hear!” She inhaled and exhaled, as though struggling to retain her temper.

Gaspard backed off.

“I think,” he said, “I should leave. I have a meeting with Miss Josephine Montilyet.”

That wasn’t until later that night, but he figured to be out of the radius before she burst into flames.

~:~

“Calia.” Adhlea had enough of her own fucking cowardice. Sure, she’d gone to stalking around the place at night, but again – she’d only been in _here_ with her ruined _vallaslin._ Gaspard had… Surprisingly, helped. He was nice, for a royal family member. Well… Sort of. The explosion about her Keeper he’d dropped on her had been unwelcome. “Calia, I need you to take my masks and…” She hesitated before blurting it out. “Fucking _burn_ them.”

Calia lit up.

“Yay!” Calia jumped up. “It’s… a good thing I already did.”

Adhlea stared at her for a long moment.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice no longer confident. “When are the Chargers practicing today?”

“They should be in the courtyard about… now, judging by where I heard them as I was passing by.”

Adhlea nodded, making to get a cowl –

“Nuh-uh! I may be your servant, but as of right now, you need to stop hiding!” Calia dragged her away, shoving her at the door. “ _Go!_ Be your best self, _lethallan!”_

Adhlea’s eyes widened. “You’ve been taking lessons?”

“Yes, Ser Syven is nice. But don’t get distracted. _Leave!”_

Adhlea tremblingly touched her door and opened it.

A servant, Nora, grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. “Come _on,”_ the older elf growled. “I’ll not have Ser _the Iron Bull_ waiting. What a dumbass name.”

“But – I’m supposed to practice with Krem –“

She faltered and tugged back when she felt a mage coming. A servant burst through the door with another one her age. Nora passed her along; she was distracted by them and didn’t know where the mage went.

Adhlea… Was truly bewildered as the two servants opened the door and Yenera was standing there with a grumpy face.

“Wait, I changed my – ah!”

She squeaked in a truly embarrassing way as she was lifted up and flung over Yenera’s shoulder.

“ _Everyone outta the way!”_ Yenera bellowed, charging and – oh, _Creators,_ was Yenera _waving her battle-axe around?_

“Yenera, you could _hurt someone!”_

“Oh, chill, Inquisi-tits.”

“ _Never say that around Sera!”_

Yenera laughed in a truly ominous way before stopping. “You don’t have a full bladder, right?”

“What, no. Why, what are you _AAAAAHHHH!”_

She found herself falling. No barrier meant –

She slammed into arms.

“Aw, just like a princess,” the Iron Bull snickered. “Thanks, Adaar bitch!”

“ _Fuck you, Qunari bastard!”_

“We’re all tired of your moping,” the Iron Bull said with a glance down at her. “Looks like that husband of yours made ya stop for a moment. All right, men – just like we practiced! Hit ‘er with everything!”

She opened her mouth to ask _what_ when something cold – snow – hit her.

“One point!”

_Magic? But I can’t –_

Something hit her arm.

“It’s called a snow-ball fight, Boss!” Krem lobbed another ball of snow. “Watch out for _the_ Boss’ hits, Boss.”

Something big hit her back. She looked behind her. The Iron Bull slammed a hand with Skinner; Krem yelped as he was hit.

Adhlea crawled over to him. “How’s about we gang up on them?” Krem’s brow shot up. “You know I’m a good shot. Let’s show ‘em.”

“I’m helping, too!” Dalish appeared. Her power as a mage wasn’t substantial, but it still hurt. She didn’t see Krem shaking his head. Adhlea swallowed the lump in her throat.

_I’m done crying._

“Three against seven,” Adhlea said with a shaky smile. “Let’s fuck their shit up.”

She clumsily grabbed a pile of snow, then watched Dalish pack it into a ball.

“Pack it,” Krem advised. “And then throw. As hard, and as accurate as you can. Face-shots mean you’re out, and no putting rocks in ‘em. _That’s_ a penalty, as it could injure someone.”

“Alright.” Adhlea had never played in snow. As a potential Keeper, she’d always been stuck inside the aravel with Keeper Deshanna while the other children played and learned to survive. She packed it, peered above the snow, saw the Iron Bull leaning down and scooping up snow –

“Let’s make a stockpile, while we’re not being pelted.”

The three made a quick stockpile; then Adhlea saw the Iron Bull aiming.

“Duck!”

The snowball exploded the snow where the trio were hiding.

“NOW!”

Adhlea leaped up, to act as the decoy, flinging snowballs as fast as she could. She downed two.

The Iron Bull laughed and pelted her with snowballs. Adhlea protected her face as best she could.

How long they were messing in the snow it wasn’t certain until Adhlea heard someone behind her and threw an accurately-placed snowball.

Solas wiped the snow off of his face with a dry look.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Adhlea tried not to laugh as Krem took the time to pelt Solas with another snowball.

“It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “I would like to speak with you, alone, if possible?”

She nodded, then began to walk with him.

“I know that I can no longer be your teacher in magic,” Solas said, his eyes sad as Adhlea looked down. “But if it is possible, I can teach you the words of the Elvhen people. Even some spells for when you get your magic back.”

Adhlea jerked her head up, staring at him. “But it’s impossible.” Her heart beat faster. “Isn’t it?”

Solas shrugged. “It’s _unheard_ of,” the mage hedged, “but considering you said you could not feel the Fade – could not feel the Anchor itself, even – suggests that until you get sense of the Fade back, you’re less likely to be able to close rifts. I wouldn’t say that it’s an _impossibility.”_

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra’s loud voice made her turn with Solas. There were multiple people in the hallways. “Inquisitor, the king of Orzammar has asked an audience with you.”

“Is he _here?”_ Adhlea doubted it.

Cassandra shook her head. “No. He sent a letter. Like the Archon, but it’s less likely to be a trap.”

“Dwarves,” Solas said, exchanging a look with Adhlea. “I don’t particularly enjoy dealing with them.”

“You wouldn’t be coming, then,” she said, trying not to let her disappointment show.

“I highly doubt I am needed on this excursion,” he said. “As I’m certain you’re going.”

Adhlea inclined her head. “As Inquisitor, I must.” She swallowed. “Guess that means Syven’s coming along.”

“You should take Dorian and the Iron Bull,” Solas rather unexpectedly said. “They might be useful.”

“Cassandra, would you be all right to come along?” Cassandra, Varric – of _course_ she was dragging Varric along, he’d missed out on the Tevinter trip – the Iron Bull, Syven, and Dorian. Two mages, two warriors –

“Yenera expressed a desire to get away from… Alexius,” Cassandra said, carefully.

“Three mages, three warriors and a rogue,” Adhlea hummed.

“Two,” Cassandra murmured.

Adhlea flinched. “Yes, _two,”_ she murmured.

“Three.” Solas’ firm voice made her glance up to him. He was glaring at Cassandra.

“Two,” Adhlea countered. “It’s all right, Solas. I’m good with that.”

“I,” Solas said, looking down at her, “am not. You _will_ get your magic back.”

Adhlea offered him a hopeless smile, ignoring the warmth that stirred inside her when he was so firm.. “Doubtful,” she murmured.

“Josephine also asked you to meet your husband in the War Room. Apparently he has some ideas about how to tackle the rifts while you are unable to close them,” Cassandra reported.

Adhlea had the displeasure of seeing Solas’ face close off.

“Come,” Adhlea said, shooting Cassandra a dark glare. “You are a Fade expert. Surely he will take your opinion into account.”


	60. Chapter 60

Josephine Montilyet had not felt such a migraine as both the Duke of Chevaliers and their resident Fade expert bickered. It was giving her the _worst_ migraine in the world.

Inquisitor Lavellan looked like she regretted everything; from the moment Solas had been introduced, the Duke had been cordial. Solas had been, as well – until the Duke had pulled the Anchor into the conversation.

“If she cannot wield it, then the rifts will only grow bigger. If there is any way to remove it –“

“There is not,” the Fade-walker had snapped. “If there was, I would have found it.”

And it’d gone downhill from there. Gaspard had cooled and said something snide. Solas had returned it.

Josephine stared at Adhlea, who was clearly growing angry.

_“Enough, both of you!”_

Josephine started nearly violently. Adhlea shot her an apologetic glance before her magenta eyes glared at Gaspard and Solas equally.

“If you intend to have a pissing contest,” she said, her voice cold, “then take it _out of Skyhold._ I’ll not have it. Gaspard – some of your _experienced_ chevaliers around the Rifts that spawn more pieces of shite would work, yes – but you also have the problem of the demons already in the area. You would have to have places as the Emerald Graves _crawling_ with Chevaliers, and the Empress would grow suspicious. Solas _does_ have a point, though. I intend to get my magic back, even if it’s _just_ the Anchor. Solas is also a Fade-walker, Gaspard, so _please do_ show him respect. I also _do_ intend to journey to Val Royeaux to speak with the Empress – _don’t give me that look,_ I _know_ she sent you here, whether or not she sent you while you were coming – as soon as I am back from my next trip.” She took a deep breath.

“You intend to go to the ball there?”

She shot Gaspard a look. “Yes, as when I get there, you and I need to have a long, _long_ conversation that I completely forgot about until this moment.” She arched a brow at his face. “I intend to show up as the Inquisitor, as she _did_ invite me along with Vivienne. Should be fun.”

Gaspard inclined his head to her. “Are you headed to Tevinter again?”

Josephine stared at Adhlea with Solas. Solas suddenly turned away, leaving the War Room.

“Hardly,” the elf replied, shooting a concerned look towards the door Solas just exited. “Orzammar, actually. You can even tell the Empress.”

“Should I tell her about Tevinter?”

“If you’d like.” Adhlea smiled, a smile of teeth. “I’m not under her purview. And I was invited by the Archon.”

“Who is now dead,” Josephine added.

“Oh. Now the Black Divine can rest easy,” the elf said, sarcasm thick. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find some assistants to aid me in my quest to bring peace about the land.” She stalked off, slamming the door shut.

Gaspard turned to Josephine.

“Did… The Black Divine upset her?”

Josephine closed her eyes. “The Black Divine offered her search of his libraries in return for getting a magister out of the way and the Archon – the now dead Archon – killed. According to her, the Black Divine promised the magister would not be able to brand her, but.” Josephine arranged her papers. “The Black Divine was too late, the Archon was not killed, and our leader has her face marked due to the Black Divine not coming in.” Josephine saw Gaspard’s face was white. “She has been doing things far more dangerous, Grand Duke. I highly doubt it will get any easier.”

“No,” the Grand Duke swallowed. “It seems I underestimated the Inquisition’s reach.”

Josephine eyed him.

“Whatever it takes,” she said, softly. “Inquisitor _Lavellan_ is doing _whatever it takes_ to stop Corypheus. If that means trusting someone to keep his word even though they themselves doubt it, she will do it. If Corypheus can be stopped, she will walk to the edges of the earth to do so.” Josephine shuffled her papers together. “Now, with all due respect –“

“Let me ask you just one thing,” the Grand Duke interrupted. “Is she and the… _Fade-walker_ involved?”

Josephine was not an idiot.

“Considering that he is her teacher in all things magical and elvhen, they are involved in a sacred relationship,” Josephine said, sweetly. “But if you ask if they are in a romantic relationship – no. Solas is merely concerned for her.” The Grand Duke scowled, but his expression smoothed out as she finished speaking.

“Thank you, Lady Montilyet. I shall put in a good word for you in Val Royeaux.”

 _Lovely._ She smiled at him pleasantly. As he left, she glanced at Leliana. Her presence was only obvious to Josephine, apparently. The door creaked shut.

“He is definitely going to be in for a shock,” Leliana murmured.

“Indeed.” Josephine opened her sketchbook. “So I made some designs for the Winter Ball in the spring. How do these uniforms look?”

She knew Leliana’s look of disgust was not fabricated.

“The Inquisitor is _not_ wearing that,” Leliana said. “Nor am I. If I go in, I dress to impress. And this, no offense intended, my dear heart, but this is awful – especially with the Inquisitor.”

Josephine scowled.

“How about you let the Inquisitor choose?” Leliana added. “She’s got some skill with drawing, I’ve heard. Or perhaps that’s Solas.”

Josephine’s eyes lit up. “Solas! We could ask _Solas.”_

Leliana grimaced, but Josephine ignored her. Surely Solas had good ideas when it came to clothing!

~:~

The Iron Bull typically only used _saarebas_ for one of two things: really powerful mages and really powerful warriors. As he traveled the Hinterlands with a non-Qun Adaar, a shrimpy elven archer named Sera, a white-haired elf with similar lyrium brands, the disgruntled Seeker, the leader of the apostate mages (although apparently it was unofficial), a dwarf, and a spirit boy he constantly forgot about, he came to the very firm belief that his boss was, in reality, a _saarebas._

In Qunlat, that meant ‘dangerous thing’.

No, he was not calling her a _thing._ He was simply stating that she was very powerful in her own right and she could probably, if she were ever really interested, be _very_ welcome in the Qun.

She was, enthusiastically, killing red lyrium-infused templars. A snarl lit her face as she drove her knives over and over again into a group of them.

Taking a glance around, it really was only the elves who gave such weird grins. Cole just stood in the middle with his knives, staring at Boss.

“You ache because you can feel it surge,” the boy said as the last templar in their way dropped. “It hurts so bad you just want it to go away.”

“Thank you, Cole.” The Boss gave Cole a cool smile as she sheathed her daggers. “I very much _do_ appreciate having all my thoughts aired out for everyone to hear.”

“She’s afraid,” Cole said, turning with her. “She’s afraid of going down there. _It’s a big black abyss; I don’t like small spaces.”_

Elaine looked to the side, her face reddening.

“I… really hate being underground,” she admitted quietly.

“Should I even be here? We’re a huge group! Why d’you need all the protection?” Sera frowned, kicking a rock.

“It was at Leliana’s request. Look, you two can go off somewhere else if you want.” She turned to the others in the group. “Anyone else want to leave?”

Nobody said a word as she stalked past them.

“Wow, she’s not happy,” Varric announced.

“She’s lonely,” Cole said, his eyes wide. “She’s afraid that without her magic, she’ll be useless. _I have to do whatever I can to get it back._ ”

“Are you guys _coming_?”

“We should follow,” Yenera muttered, a frown on her face. The Iron Bull hesitated, then called up.

“Hey, Boss – want me to babysit the shrimpy archer and the mage girl?”

“ _Whatever you want to do, Bull!”_

Yeah, if she kept up that attitude the king of Orzammar was going to through them out.


	61. Orzammar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I'm stuck. During the scene where Dorian meets his father, I'm conflicted on who to take. So, if you all wouldn't mind tossing in a review or two about who you think Dorian should take to meet his father (it's not for a while yet, but it WILL happen), I'll give you the choices and you give me reasons why or why not it's a bad idea? Syven and Bull, Syven alone, Syven and Adhlea, or just Adhlea.
> 
> Review and help me, please!

“Welcome to the Deep Roads,” Lace Harding greeted, gesturing to them before peering at Adhlea. “Nice markings,” she said with a smile. Adhlea forced a smile onto her face.

“Thanks. They’re in fashion in Tevinter.”

Harding winced even as Yenera snorted. “Sorry. I can’t help but think they’re darkly pretty.”

Adhlea looked to the ground. “Yeah. There’s at least _one_ good thing about these, you want to know?”

Harding nodded, looking hesitant.

Adhlea’s grin became a _little_ bit more natural. “At least I won’t get lost in the dark.”

Fenris choked on his own spit while laughing.

Harding’s smile returned. “Good to see you’re in high spirits. The dwarves aren’t, though. They’re constantly having to deal with unnatural earthquakes – I even heard a darkspawn seal was broken. The king has asked me to tell you, through many, _many_ dwarves, that he would appreciate it if you could see what was causing it. He also wrote this to give to you.”

Harding gave her a letter.

_Inquisitor,_

_With the earthquakes happening, there will be no time to meet. The Shaperate has offered one of its own to show you into the Deep Roads, should you accept our plea._

_Many thanks in advance,_

_The King of Orzammar_

“He’s a new king,” Harding muttered. “He sent dwarves up here.”

Varric snorted. “He’s probably going to get assassinated soon.”

Harding nodded. “Most likely.”

Adhlea’s brows shot up. “And _this_ is why I prefer Orlesian royalty. At least in Orlais you know every single dance there’s a possibility of an elaborate assassination of one of the nobility.” Adhlea winced as she realized what she just said. “I cannot believe those words _actually_ left my mouth. They taste disgusting.”

“Yeah, for a moment I was worried,” Varric muttered dryly. “You said you hated Orlesian politics.”

“The last attempt on Celene was actually tragically boring,” Adhlea remarked. “The guy ran in and attempted to kill her by running up the stairs. He was scolded on his lack of creativity and sent back to the House of Repose.” Harding was just staring at her in blatant shock. “What? In Orlais, there’s these elaborate schemes. Blackmail, intrigue, love – half the time it’s for something-or-other Celene did with a man to elevate his status or ruin his reputation. Everyone knows – well, the women do – that Celene has an elven lover. It’s like the romance novels I was sent while learning Common.”

“Wow, Dahlia. Orlesian politics are screwed up,” Varric muttered.

Adhlea shook her head. “Orlesian politics aside,” she said, straightening, “we’re supposed to be meeting someone of the Shaperate? What’s a Shaperate?”

“Ah, yeah, you’re meeting Valta as soon as the lift is ready. She doesn’t want to see the sky.”

“She does that, it renders her casteless,” Varric mentioned to Adhlea as she looked at him in confusion. She nodded, understanding smoothing her forehead.

“You mentioned darkspawn,” Yenera said, sounding happy. “We going to kill ‘em?”

“Hopefully,” Harding said, “but it’d honestly be better if you’d brought a staff. You don’t want darkspawn touching you,” she told Adhlea.

“Oh, yes. About that.” Adhlea’s smiled strained. “Thanks to Tevinter’s fashion, I’m no longer a mage.”

Harding paled drastically. “I keep saying the wrong things!” She buried her face in her hands.

Adhlea sighed. “Ah, well. You reacted better than my brother.” She mocked him in a high-pitched voice. “ _Oh no, you’re no longer a mage, that’s terrible. I guess now I can threaten Vivienne again and you can’t shove fireballs up my ass, nyah!”_

“She’s actually been threatening to make Vivienne make him an ice statue,” Yenera said, sounding rather wistful. “It’s been great.”

“I wish Enaste had stayed,” Adhlea muttered. “She terrifies Syven when she does magic.”

“Hey! The lift’s done!”

“Your inner circle is so weird,” Harding informed Adhlea with a grin.

“I know,” Adhlea grinned back.

“Anyway. You all can go down now. Lift’s done.” Adhlea stared at the lift, any grin sliding off her face as she stared at it.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, suddenly unsure. It had only a few boards holding it together.

“Afraid so,” grimaced Harding. “If it’s any consolation, if you die by falling we’ll exaggerate your deaths!”

“You know,” Yenera cackled, “I think I like you, half-dwarf girl.”

“Name’s Lace Harding,” Harding said back without batting an eyelash.

“Can we _please_ get going?” Cassandra groaned. Adhlea had actually forgotten she was here at all.

“Sure.” Adhlea swallowed and stepped onto the lift first.

“Hope you don’t die!” Harding cheerfully said as they crowded. “Try not to move too much, and don’t stand too close to the edge! Come back alive!”

They started down.

“I’m regretting coming here,” Cassandra muttered.

“Hold onto me, Seeker. We’ll make it through. I got my battle-axe; lovely Valencia can cut through rock like butter!”

“Yeah, no,” Varric said quickly. “I wouldn’t, Seeker.”

Adhlea was quiet, staring at the carved images.

 _“Larger than life,_ ” Cole whispered. _“I don’t want to be one of them.”_

“Whose thought was that, kid?” Varric sounded only mildly interested. Adhlea’s face burned as she stared at a passing beard of a paragon or king.

“Hers,” Cole said, still quiet. “She doesn’t want to be one of them.”

Yenera was a Creators-blessed being.

“Nope, I sure as fuck don’t. From what I hear, paragons get the pointy end of the sword.”

“Can only dwarves be paragons?” Cassandra sounded intrigued. “Or can humans be named one?”

“Well… I don’t _think_ so,” Varric hedged. “Honestly, I think an exception could be made with Dahlia and Dagger. Elf-blooded children always look like the non-elf. They could just say that Dahlia was a dwarf.”

“There’s no way I would be romantic with a dwarf I don’t know,” Adhlea said, her voice flat. She then turned, very carefully, to wink at Varric. “Guess that means you’d be my only option, eh?”

His brows shot up even as he smirked. “Well, Dahlia, I’m tempted, but – nah. You got a husband _and_ a side lover, right?”

Adhlea frowned. “A side lover? Why would I have one of those? If it got to Orlais that I was fucking someone, Gaspard’s reputation would be in tatters.” Unless, of course, he _approved._ Then he’d quash those rumors with a few vicious ones of his own; if anything, Adhlea would have to be the most secretive person in Thedas if she didn’t want Gaspard to have to deal with it. Not that Adhlea _planned_ on having a side lover.

“I heard there was a lover’s spat in the War Room,” Varric said, amused. “You, Solas, and Gaspard were all there.”

“Solas is –“ Adhlea felt fire rush to her face. “Solas is my _mentor,”_ she said, mortified. “ _Not_ my lover. They were having a pissing contest; I believe neither won, though truly I had to leave.”

“Uh-huh,” Varric said, skeptical.

Adhlea looked at Cassandra, who was _smirking._

“You _do_ seem to look to him for a lot of things,” Cassandra mentioned.

“Oh, my Creators,” Adhlea muttered. “There is _nothing_ untoward going on.”

“Not like you’d be able to tell us,” Yenera snorted.

“I _am not fucking Solas!”_

Her shout echoed. She clapped her hands on her mouth as they passed a lip in the wall, dwarves staring at them.

“Oops,” she muttered.

“I think that’s the reddest you’ve ever been,” Yenera observed.

Adhlea turned around, refusing to look at her. “You all suck,” she announced, trying and failing to scowl; she _did_ feel a bit of attraction to Solas, but it was purely physical. Well. No. She enjoyed his intellect, his physical appearance, his voice, his almost lyrical cadence when he did speak – oh, no. Adhlea clamped down on those thoughts. _Purely physical._

“You slept in the same tent, shared the same bedroom on the way to Tevinter…”

“For the love of –“ Adhlea turned once more and made it very firm. “Solas has saved my life. He and I shared a bedroom –“ _and a bed, but really. They don’t need to know that._ “- due to Vivienne only buying three rooms on that ship. I slept in the same room as Solas so we could practice _magic.”_

“ _Magic_ magic or…” Yenera wiggled her brows suggestively. Fenris frowned disapprovingly.

“Oh, my gods,” Adhlea put her face in her hands, dying of mortification. _“Just magic,”_ she groaned. “Dorian can tell you what kind.”

“Oh, he said the rooms were soundproof.” Cassandra was _enjoying this._ “So, did you –“

“ _NO!”_ Adhlea cringed at her half-scream of denial. “N-no,” she stuttered. “Solas was a gentleman, and I have firm boundaries.” Like slipping a dagger under her pillow. _Just_ in case.

“Alright, alright!” Varric seemed to realize that was enough. “Stop embarrassing her.”

“But it’s so _fun,”_ Yenera muttered.

“For _you_ asses, yes!” Adhlea turned back around, still red. The lift stopped; Adhlea peeked out between her fingers.

 _“A song, a song beats in tune with the heart,”_ Cole muttered. “You can hear it, but you don’t recognize it.”

They were stuck or something. They were at the bottom of a Paragon statue, suspended in air.

Adhlea’s heart flew into her mouth as the lift dropped faster before shuddering to a stop again. Adhlea glanced up, ready to shout, but stopped at the thin crack of sky seen above.

_Were they really that far down?_

Once more, the lift began descending. They were silent, all of them watching until they stopped on – sort of – solid ground.

Adhlea was the first off, followed by Yenera and Cole; Fenris let Cassandra off before he, then Varric, stepped off.

There was an audible sigh of relief from Fenris as he stepped from the lift.

“I have a feeling not many elves or humans have ever stepped down here,” Adhlea remarked.

“Not since the fall of your Arlathan, elves haven’t been down here,” a female dwarf said, stepping forward, but remained in the gloom. Thanks to her elf heritage, Adhlea could see almost perfectly in the darkness of the road. Covered bodies lay on the stone beneath them. “I am Shaper Valta. You know you have lyrium attached to your face, right?”

She was looking mildly concerned for Adhlea.

“Not by choice,” Adhlea replied.

Valta nodded. “I see. Let’s get going.”

“Where exactly are we headed?” Adhlea asked, her group falling into step behind her. She was glad that dwarves might not have as strange a reaction to her face.

“To the Legion of the Dead,” Valta replied, glancing back at her. “Your assistance is welcome, Inquisitor. The earthquakes have only worsened since.” Valta halted. “Earthquake,” she muttered.

Adhlea felt nothing –

 _“Ah!”_ Her head felt like it was splitting open, something thundering in her mind. She placed a hand on her _vallaslin,_ trying to get it to calm down, to ease her sudden headache. Everything was rattling. She leaned on the wall.

As abruptly as it started, it faded. Adhlea cracked her eyes open, unaware that she’d closed them.

“- the lyrium, perhaps,” Valta was saying, sounding fascinated. “They were both branded, yes? Interesting.”

Adhlea’s head pounded, still.

Fenris grunted as he stood, the white-haired elf looking angry beyond belief.

“ _Magic_ shite,” he grumbled, looking uneasy. “ _Dwarven_ magic shite.”

“Dwarva can’t do magic,” Valta deadpanned. “The only magic we can do is shape stone.”

Adhlea rubbed her forehead. “Just… I think it might just be the earthquakes,” she said, wincing. “Creators, it’s painful.”

She had not read a lot about dwarves. She did know that the way they chose Paragons was weird, but the dwarves probably thought elves were weird, too.

“Let’s continue,” Valta announced, continuing on.


	62. Chapter 62

The sound of approaching footsteps of a large group caught the Legion of the Dead’s attention. Dwarven eyes warily watched as Valta reappeared, a female elf right behind her. A dwarf, two humans, a Qunari woman, and another elf made the strangest group that the Legion had ever seen in the Deep Roads.

What caught their attention, however, were the lyrium brands on the first and second elves. One had lyrium branching all over her face in a specific pattern; the brands on the second elf were mostly hidden, only a few inches on his neck and seen on his arms before his hands were hidden.

“We getting ready for an invasion?” muttered one of the Legion, tensing.

Valta turned to the female elf. “Inquisitor Lavellan, this is a company of the Legion of the Dead.”

The Inquisitor offered a smile and a wave.

“Hello!” she chirped.

“I don’t think they’re happy we’re here, Dahlia.” The dwarf with the crossbow folded his arms over his chest. “We’re part of the Inquisition, Legion. We accept all-comers.”

“Except assholes,” the Qunari lady said. “And, just so you know, I’m actually not Qunari. I was born in the Dales. I’m an Adaar.”

“In other words, this isn’t an invasion,” Valta informed the Legion. “They’re here to help.”

“They might just make things worse,” Renn said, stepping forward. “The Assembly is choosing a new king.”

The above-ground dwarf snorted. “And he might actually make the shortest-reigning king in the history of the dwarves. How’d he croak? Poorly timed arrow?”

“You probably shouldn’t joke, Varric,” the female elf said, shooting him a glance. “The _proper_ response is probably to give your condolences.”

“That’s all on you, Dahlia. We just _reflect_ you.”

The female elf just sighed. “The Inquisition offers its condolences for the king’s death. Varric’s opinion on this doesn’t matter.” She inclined her head. “I am Inquisitor Thalia Lavellan of the Dalish clan Lavellan. We have come to offer our help on the earthquake problem.”

“And maybe I get to kill some darkspawn,” the Adaar said, hefting her axe.

“Well, then.” Renn offered a smirk. “Us Legion of the Dead don’t particularly care if you’re diplomatic. We were just curious why you brought one of each race down with you.”

The elf cast her eyes to the ceiling.

“My… _advisors,”_ she said, through gritted teeth and a forced smile, “seem to think I am incapable of taking care of myself now that I can no longer wield magic.” She jerked her thumb behind her. “I had an _actual_ Qunari with me as well as a mage and an archer, but they’re still on the surface due to them apparently not wanting to _babysit me._ ”

“That’s… kind of pathetic,” Renn muttered. “Anyway, let’s get going. We don’t have time on our side here.”

“True.” The Inquisitor strode forward. “Where are we headed?”

“Down the Deep Roads,” Renn replied. “Valta, you joining us?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t want to go down there,” the human boy said, hiding behind the Seeker woman. “It’s cold and dark and they’re screaming. They’re screaming for it.”

“I will stay with him,” the Seeker said. “So long as the Legion does not decide to kick us out. A human’s eyes are not good in the dark.”

“Don’t try anything, Seeker, and I’m ninety-percent sure they’ll not kick you out.” The casteless dwarf glanced at the Inquisitor, who nodded. “Keep Cole safe.”

The Seeker glanced down at the boy distastefully. “Fine,” she said, folding her arms.

“She doesn’t like me,” the boy muttered. “She thinks I’m a demon.”

The Seeker scowled. “Yes, well, it IS _your_ choice to remain behind with me,” the Seeker said flatly.

The Inquisitor cleared her throat.

“Cole is under the protection of the Inquisition,” she announced, flatly. “Whatever happens, know that if we come back and the Seeker tells me he’s been attacked, I will _not_ hold back.”

“I think they got it, Dahlia.” The casteless dwarf faced forward. “All right, Shaper. We’re ready.”

“Let’s get going,” Renn ordered Valta, taking one torch.

“Won’t we need more?” Valta frowned.

“Elves can see in the dark, Scribbles,” the dwarf said with a smirk. “And I may not sense the Stone, but you can be damned sure I can see fine. Only person who can’t see in the dark is Shrimp.”

The tall Adaar shook her head. “I cannot,” she admitted. “And only seeing shit with Inquisi-tit’s markings would be a recipe for me falling off the edge into the abyss.”

~:~

Solas was in the Rotunda painting on the wall when the human known as the _Duke of Chevaliers_ approached. It was long after the Inquisitor had left; Solas had no doubt that he’d waited _because_ he knew she’d be deep in Orzammar at this point.

“You intend to bring her magic back, yes?”

Solas calmly set his paints down, turning to the chevalier. The human had aged well, possibly because he was nobility. Solas put his hands behind his back. “I do intend to do so, yes.”

The Duke looked him up and down, then turned to peruse the half-painted mural Solas was creating. “Who are you painting?”

Solas kept his face neutral. “I felt it was necessary to depict the Inquisitor. It is not finished.”

All he had so far was a sword and two hands, one with the Anchor spreading upwards.

“You should represent her properly,” the human said, turning to look at him, his expression unreadable. “As what you, and the Inquisition, sees her as. She _is_ a mage, after all.”

_I already intended to do so._

The door to the Rotunda opened. Solas closed his eyes.

The approaching footsteps skidded to a stop.

“ _You,”_ Galifalon said.

“You’re her brother, aren’t you?” Gaspard seemed unconcerned.

Solas waved his hand as Galifalon removed a knife, freezing the youngest member of Adhlea’s family.

“He shall thaw in a few minutes,” Solas uttered calmly. “I suggest before he follows through on his attempt to kill you that you remove your presence from his sight.”

“I’m not particularly worried,” Gaspard said. “He’s tried to kill me before.”

With that, the human left. Solas waited until he was gone – the door slamming shut and all, before unfreezing the younger elf. Galifalon looked pissed. “ _Why the fuck_ did you do that?”

“Try to kill him elsewhere,” Solas advised. “I truly do not wish to clean up blood.”

Solas picked up his paints, returning to his mural; he suddenly recalled something Josephine had asked him to do, and that he’d finished. It would be _perfect_ for this image.

With that, he started again.

~:~

Ser Delrin Barris, formerly of the templar order, stepped up to the gates of Skyhold. It’d taken months to find the new sanctuary of the Inquisition, even with directions from many scouts in the Frostbacks. An Avvar stood in front of the gates, staring up at the sky.

“Um, sir,” a female former templar hedged, “is this really the right place?”

A familiar face met Barris’ face. _Warden Blackwall._ He was offering the Avvar a platter of food. The Avvar sat down where he stood and took the platter before digging in with his hands.

“Warden!” The Avvar did not look up, but the Warden did. The Warden approached the group. “I’m the templar that –“

“Oh, it’s _you,”_ the Warden said, sounding unenthused. “Inquisitor ain’t here, but we can offer you a place to stay until she comes back.”

“What did you _do_ to them?” another templar whispered, as though the retreating Warden could hear them.

“Oh, just wrong place, wrong time.” Barris grimaced. “Remember hearing about Lord Seeker Lucius’, rather, unfortunate mistake of attempting to kill people in Val Royeaux? I was there. I did _not_ attempt to kill the Inquisitor, or any civilians.” Barris started following Warden Blackwall. “I don’t even know who the Inquisitor _is.”_

“Inquisitor _is_ the Herald,” Blackwall called back. Apparently he _did_ have enhanced hearing. Shit. “And don’t any of you remark upon her face when you do see her.”

Delrin Barris nearly regretted coming there as he spotted several vicious-looking creatures gnawing on bloody meat.

“Horsemaster Dennet! Here’s another nug for ya!”

“Toss it into the pile, don’t have time to watch it,” the horsemaster grunted. “I’m going to sign off on their extermination. I’d rather not have those _things_ trying to eat the other horses.”

“At least you _tried,”_ a woman nearby sighed. “I honestly can’t believe what the Inquisitor was thinking, letting them in here.”

“Ah, she was probably in her rooms… hiding,” the horsemaster shrugged.

“ _Dennet,_ that’s rude!”

“But true!”

“ _Still rude._ Don’t _ever_ say that in public.”

“Yes, Senna.”

“Are they mad? They act like they don’t have a care in the world!” Elissa sounded scandalized.

“Oh, they care,” the Warden said, stopping in the mostly snow-free courtyard. “They’re just trying not to show it. Half our recruits come from the Inquisitor’s travels. Ah, Calia!”

An elf maid appeared, her brown hair in a clip. Instead of the Inquisition’s insignia on her dress, there was a crest of a dragon with wings outstretched.

“Yes, Warden?”

“Remember those templars that might’ve been coming? These are them. Show ‘em to the barracks, please.”

Calia nodded. “Okay. Please follow me.” She began walking. “You’re going to have to bunk with the apostates that don’t have rooms yet; Skyhold isn’t entirely equipped to deal with so many personnel so we’re building a barracks in the back. Like I said, it’s not finished – they’re still building it – and that’s why you’re bunking with mages. Rules are, unless you’re training, don’t fight with the apostates. That will get you kicked out of the Inquisition. _No smiting_ others,” she said, looking at them from over her shoulder. “That’s an automatic kick-out. You want to practice your smiting, go into the forest and make sure nobody’s around. Also, we’re on a strict lyrium rationing; you’ll have to deal with what you get when you get it.”

“I’m beginning to think I should’ve stayed at home and _not_ joined the templars,” muttered someone in Barris’ group.

Barris silently agreed as Calia threw open a door that held like forty mats. Twenty of them were currently occupied, with a strict sense of who goes where.

“Women go with women, men go with men,” Calia announced. “If you feel it, sleep in the middle.”

Barris shook his head. “None of those with me, miss.”

Calia arched a cold brow. “None of _who?”_ she demanded before sweeping in the middle. “NO FIGHTING,” she said to the apostates, who looked nervous and hostile. “Or both Mistress Trevelyan _and_ Master Rutherford will kick you out.”

Calia proceeded to leave the room without another word.

“Well, shit,” a female apostate said. “I’m going to have to be extra careful about exploding shit.”


	63. Chapter 63

Yenera ran into the fray of darkspawn, her axe swings wide yet controlled. She felled as many darkspawn as she could, with dwarves still hacking everywhere. The elves and dwarves got there just as Yenera settled her battle-axe on her shoulder.

Thalia looked disappointed. “Aw, damn,” she cussed. “I wanted to kill some darkspawn.”

“I’m glad we didn’t have to fight darkspawn, they’re fucking creepy,” Varric muttered. “Plus, their blood can infect, just like it has Felix.”

“Speaking of, we can bottle a bit of the blood up and –“ started Fenris, only to get shouts of ‘no’ echoing everywhere.

“If it breaks, then we’d all be fucked,” Varric explained to a disgruntled-looking Felix. “Dahlia’s dangerous on a good day, if _she_ were infected I’d say Yenera _might_ stand a chance.”

“I don’t want to kill any of you,” Yenera announced. “That would be tragic.”

“Well, we _could_ take some skin,” Thalia suggested.

Everyone looked from her to the darkspawn.

Nobody moved.

“No,” Yenera said decisively. “I am _not_ touching them.”

Thalia made a face.

“Wait, what are you even debating?” Valta asked, clearly confused.

“We need samples of darkspawn,” Thalia said, shuddering as she moved forward. “ _Creators,_ this is nasty.” She took out a vial.

“You’re _not_ going to –“ began Yenera, only to be thrown a dark look that made her shut up.

“I _am._ I just remembered I had a few empty phylacteries I hadn’t been able to use,” she said. “They’re notoriously hard to break.”

She took a dagger and sliced some darkspawn open.

“That is repulsive,” one of the Legion said, looking like he was going to faint.

“Are _you_ attempting to find a cure for the Blight?” Thalia asked, barely moving her mouth.

“No,” the Legion dwarf said.

“ _Exactly.”_ Thalia bottled up the phylactery, then opened a vial. “Darkspawn skin, and _done.”_

She stood, sliding them into her pack.

“I never thought I’d be somewhat pleased someone is trying to find a cure for the Blight,” Valta admitted, curious eyes still on Thalia. “It’s still very disgusting.”

“Nothing worth doing is ever truly perfect,” the elf replied. “Now, seriously, we’re trying to get to the issue that’s causing earthquakes, so let’s _go.”_

~:~

Solas stared at the boy. “You’re still dying, though the progression of the Blight has lessened.”

“Great news. How long?”

Solas shrugged, ignoring the Tevene that stood next to him. He stood and walked to the desk. “Months, years. I do not know. You going to Tevinter and then here might have cured you a little bit.” Skyhold’s ancient wards might be working magic with Adhlea’s unconscious –

Solas’ eyes widened as he stilled.

“Well, Solas, I appreciate your help.”

Solas suddenly dug through his notes, finding the sheaf of paper denoting which abilities were conscious or not.

“Solas?” Dorian’s voice made him blink back to where he was. “Solas, is there something wrong with Felix?”

“Your magic and the wards around Skyhold,” Solas said, looking to Felix. “How long has your magical strength been waning?”

“Since I arrived, but I can lift a sword,” Felix said, frowning.

“Is this about Felix, or –“

“It’s about both Felix and Adhlea,” Solas said, transferring his gaze to the notes. “Whenever Adhlea has been sulking, what, _precisely,_ has it been doing?”

“Snowing,” Felix said, his eyes lighting up. “The Inquisitor and the wards are connected?”

“If, what I’m guessing is true, yes.” _Considering I just_ gave _it to her, the odds of my being wrong are nonexistent._ “The wards are so old they’re influenced by strong emotion. She almost genuinely died after Haven; she’d associate snow with death. She felt like she was dying. So, the wards responded; yet Felix here has been in pretty excellent health whist she has been inside the wards; she wants everyone to be happy and healthy.”

Felix’s eyes lit up. “Unconscious use of magic,” he breathed. “But she said she can’t.”

“Her _consciousness_ is blocked from the Fade, not her _un_ consciousness.” Solas lifted his hand to his chin. “If we were to journey there, perhaps she’d regain her magical connection, but there’s still the lyrium to consider.”

“There’s no way to remove it, though,” Dorian countered. “Unless she gets so pissed off that she uses magic consciously, there’s little to no way that she’ll –“

“Anger is not the only way she uses her magic, though it _is_ in her nature to be angry,” Solas said, almost unthinkingly; it was obvious.

Twin stares gazed at him. Okay, maybe it wasn’t as obvious as he thought…

“On the boat,” Solas said, slowly, “while I was reading, she was making glass statues. She likes to make things with her hands. It takes a certain finesse to make what she did.”

“The halla statues?” Dorian frowned. “The ones she sold as soon as we went on our way?”

Solas nodded. “Indeed. She was not perfect about it, but she sold them to anyone. She did not intend for them to be perfect. She likes creating things, but very rarely has the time.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Well, considering that it can’t be passive magic that we’re forcing out of her, we _have_ to make her angry. Genuinely livid.”

“Then _you_ come up with a good plan that won’t end with your eventual death,” Solas said rather testily.

~:~

“Hey, Shrimp, _watch where you’re swinging that!”_ Varric had just barely dodged the woman slinging her battle axe around. Yenera was entirely too battle-happy.

“Don’t worry, Dwarf. I’m not going to kill _you,”_ Yenera said, not reassuring Varric in the least. Varric fired Bianca twice more; Adhlea’s opponent fell. The elf looked tired and worn – they all did. Even Shaper Valta, and she hadn’t been fighting.

There had been two more earthquakes. The last one Adhlea had managed to stay standing, at the very least; he was more worried about her brain and veins than he was about anything else at the moment, because _every time_ there was an earthquake he could see her face getting redder and redder. 

“What does the Song of the Stone sound like?” Adhlea wondered as they continued into the Deep Roads. Varric found it unnerving to realize that, yes, her eyes literally _glowed_ in the dark like a cat’s.

“It’s hard to explain,” Renn muttered, the Legionnaire keeping his axe ready. “It’s… like a second heartbeat in the form of a song. It’s the Stone’s heartbeat, if that makes sense.”

“And _that_ ,” Valta added, “is why I say it’s probably a Titan.”

“What is a Titan?” Varric’s question was seconded by Yenera and Adhlea. Fenris looked like he could care less.

“Nothing of concern, since it’s not in the Memories,” Renn glared.

“Oh, because if it _matters_ it’s in the Memories?” Valta scowled at him.

“You do know most of us have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, right?” Yenera sounded rather bored.

Varric turned to explain. “The Shaperate deals with putting Memories down in Dwarvish in the Library of Memories,” he said. “Anything that matters, such as the dead or kings or Paragons, the Shaperate carves in stone books with lyrium. Technically, if it’s not in the Memories, it didn’t happen.”

“Which is why I got removed from Orzammar,” the Shaper said, her eyes turning to the other people in the group. “I decided not to remove a Memory, and I got removed from my post. Politics aside, it isn’t right to lose history.”

“Wow.” Adhlea sounded impressed. “Orzammar sounds more and more like Orlais with each passing moment.”

Varric snorted. “That means it’s bad,” he said to the Legionnaire and Shaper. “Orlais is shit.”

“Agreed,” Adhlea muttered.

“Are you from Orlais?” Valta looked interested.

Adhlea shook her head. “A… Well. Long story short, I married into the nobility. I’m originally from the Dales, according to my Keeper. I’m a Dalish mage – er. No. Not anymore.” A thoughtful expression appeared on her face. “Could you remove the lyrium from my face?”

The Shaper glanced to the Legionnaire.

“Not without possibly killing you,” the Legionnaire replied. “Him, probably.” Renn nodded at Fenris. “Not you.”

Adhlea looked crushed for a moment. “Right.”

“Let’s stop now,” Valta suggested. “You guys aren’t looking too well.”

They laid their bedrolls out, a fire being started for the food; most likely nobody was going to actually sleep, but it was best to be prepared if they were. Adhlea tilted her head at Valta when Renn and Yenera vanished, presumably to make sure there were no darkspawn coming.

“You never did answer the question,” Adhlea mentioned. “What’s a Titan?”

Valta glanced up at her. “A Titan is one of the original Shapers,” she replied, eyes coming alight. “They formed us out of the Stone. I’ve only seen glimpses in the Memories; I’ve looked and looked for them but they vanished. It’s long been said that the Titans were the original Shapers until they died.” Valta shrugged. “That’s the story. Renn doesn’t think it’s true. You guys should get some sleep.”

Varric snorted, closing his eyes. It was like always. He did not dream; no dwarf did. When he woke, it was to a short scream and Adhlea’s eyes weeping blood as she breathed harshly, her _vallaslin_ shining so bright it hurt Varric’s eyes.


	64. Chapter 64

Adhlea hoped for a peaceful night. She was actually happy; no magic around her, only massive headaches that happened every time there was an earthquake; so when she went to bed she hoped there’d be enough to get rid of the constant ache in her mind.

_You’re one of them._

It was a discordant harmony that hurt her ears; a discordant harmony that sang words in her mind. It was the opposite of the malleable, harmonic Fade; it was to firm and repeatedly stabbed pulses into her brain.

She felt like something was peering all around her with mild interest. Adhlea tried to cover her ears.

 _Murderer,_ the voice-song said-screamed-sang. _Murderers, all of you._

Adhlea didn’t know what the voice-song was trying to convey. She’d not killed whatever lurked down here – well, there was the darkspawn, but those were gross, disgusting, disease-ridden creatures –

Her mind felt like it was being prized open, examined, and fumbled back together. This wasn’t magic, per se – this was –

She jerked up, a short scream exiting her mouth as she did. Fenris had smacked her in his sleep; when she’d screamed, he’d jerked up – looking red-eyed and ragged.

“Everything – oh, _Paragons,”_ Valta gasped. “You guys need to get _out_ of –“

“No.” Adhlea shook her head. “No. Whatever’s at the center of the quakes –“ _What was that? My head hurts, but… What did I hear?_ She was distracted by tears, it seemed; she wiped under her eyes, brushing them away.

“You’re bleeding, Dahlia,” Varric said. “How long since we passed out?”

“Few hours, maybe?” Valta shrugged. “Long enough for Renn and Yenera to finish a few rather… Disgusting stories.”

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” Fenris muttered to Adhlea, distracting her. “I’ve trained myself to respond to any threats instantly. I wake up with loud noises.”

He’d forced himself to hit her because the voice in his dreams was a threat and he knew Adhlea would scream. Adhlea felt majorly embarrassed.

“We need to get to the center of the quakes,” Fenris said, standing. “And fast, too. There’s no time to waste.”

Adhlea wanted to scream. She’d _been_ wanting to scream. But as she had for a while now, she pressed her lips together and refrained.

They took the camp away quickly, hurrying down to Renn and Yenera. Both looked up and stood, looking alarmed.

“We’ve got to keep going,” Valta said, throwing a look over her shoulder at the two elves.

Yenera looked disgruntled, but the duo stood and followed the group down.

“Valta, if there _is_ a such thing as a Titan,” Varric said as they reached a lift going down (It was _clearly_ old, and even if Adhlea wasn’t afraid there was going to be yet _another_ quake, she’d _still_ be utterly terrified of this rickety thing in front of them), “could _it_ have magic?”

“No.” Valta shook her head. “If you’re thinking maybe it connected with the Inquisitor and Fenris, then it’s entirely possible. Just… No, not with magic. Dwarves would dream, but we do not.” Valta glanced at Adhlea. “If it spoke of dwarves –“

“No,” Fenris said, sounding horrible, rubbing his throat. “It didn’t speak of dwarves. It spoke, sang and _screamed_ of ancient murderers. Why would it do that?”

Adhlea stepped onto the lift, thinking.

A tremor ran through the cavern. Everyone froze, to prepare for another quake, but – nothing. The room shuddered and went still. A pulse of pain through Adhlea’s skull, then nothing.

They took the lift, deciding to silently clutch onto Yenera. Her battle-axe could cut through rock like butter. Hopefully.

~:~

Cole stopped messing with the sticks, standing up from where he’d been seated. The spirit wasn’t afraid; he could feel _it_ starting to whisper.

“It sings,” he muttered. “It speaks of an ancient deed that closed it off. It speaks of an ancient deed that made it silent. It wants to move again, it wants its freedom to shape once more.” Cole turned to the Seeker. “It sees her. It sees her markings; it thinks she’s part of them but she’s not, she’s _wrong._ She is-and-isn’t. She’s wrong-and-right, but it cannot _see.”_

Cassandra stared at him like he was… A demon.

“Can you be more _specific,_ Cole?”

Cole frowned, trying to listen.

“It’s hard, because it’s the opposite of what I’m used to,” he admitted. “It speaks of the fire-elf and the mother-elf and the hunter-elf; it speaks of the friend-of-the-dead-elf and the sun-elf by the mother-elf’s side. They… They fought it, they won; they shaped the aboveground into what it became, and then the world was separated and the elf-shadows fled.” The whispers gained in noise; Cole realized with a shiver that It looked at him. He felt it was _wrong._ It was the _opposite_ of the Fade, which he was apart of. “It thinks she’s the mother-elf and the fire-elf at once, with the markings tainted with lyrium to spite it – it’s _wrong,_ you’re _wrong.”_

He addressed It. It, who retreated quickly, not wanting to hear what Cole wanted to say.

Cole _refused_ to be ignored.

“Just let her speak!” Cole called to the thing-that-was-all-around. “Let her tell you, and you will see.”

He had never felt so useless, then, because it did not listen.

It just _left._ He was standing in a room filled with the faintest of whispers, and none the ones around him could hear.

He could _feel_ her distress, but also… _resolve._

Cole brushed up against her.

She gently pushed him away.

Cole jolted.

 _She was and she isn’t and she is,_ he realized. _A mage who isn’t and yet who is._

He smiled.

“She’s going to be okay,” he said, turning to Cassandra with a smile.


	65. Chapter 65

Resting was inevitable; however, as soon as Adhlea had eaten, she was ready. She waited until Valta was asleep before she stood, taking her pack but leaving her bedroll.

“Wait.” Fenris’ hiss made her start, whirling to him; he stood to his feet. “Syven made me swear I’d never let you leave my sight, so we’re going together.” She nodded, walking off.

Yenera’s loud voice rumbled ahead; Adhlea took out some rogue powder and dropped it, purple misting them and making them invisible. She clutched at Fenris’ wrist, unable to see him as they crept past the two.

It wasn’t what Valta had spoken of while they walked; no, Adhlea was absolutely positive that once this was over they’d be hopelessly lost.

They walked, took two lifts; they walked some more. They were being drawn to the center; as they walked, their lyrium was glowing – pulsing. Brighter and brighter. Everything was stained blue.

They walked, and walked, and walked.

It felt like the journey from Haven. Her feet hurt, her legs hurt, and all in all she was just –

“At least it’s not snow,” she snorted.

“What’s wrong with snow?”

Adhlea glanced over to him, realizing – he probably hadn’t heard the story.

“Well,” she said, with a grin, “in order to stop that bastard Corypheus in Haven, I dropped an avalanche on him after it evacuated. Managed to avoid the worst of the avalanche, but I had to walk over snow.” She paused. “I must’ve lost both of my shoes, because when I could feel actual feeling in them, they were bleeding.” She sighed. “Think Valta, Varric, and Yenera are following?”

“Maybe.” Fenris stared at her with an undefinable expression. “I am _not_ following you on any excursions out of Skyhold anymore, just so you know.”

Adhlea laughed. Loudly. “Wouldn’t expect you to want to. I’m not surprised Dorian said no to coming with me on this trip; even less surprised the Iron Bull decided to stay behind.”

“Corypheus…” Fenris grit his teeth. “He’s still _alive._ Maker above, I thought we’d never get rid of him and now I find out he’s still alive.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’s pissed at _me_ ,” Adhlea remarked dryly. “I mean, I get why, but it’s kind of… Well, _dumb._ His problem is that I carry the Anchor. It’s probably not meant for me, I know – but there’s a little tiny detail that whoever gave the elvhen orb to him neglected to think about: It is an _elvhen_ orb, not a _human_ one.”

“An elvhen orb? Like the tales of the Dalish gods?” Fenris frowned.

“It’s not just tales,” Adhlea whispered. “I’ve met one. He is the god of rebellion, but – my Keeper, she says that all stories have different sides to it. The one I have heard from her and the one I heard from my mother were two different ones. I… Keeper Deshanna is wise beyond her years, that I do not doubt. And I have met Fen’Harel; he saved my life years ago – or so he claims.” Adhlea stared ahead. “What I truly do not doubt is that he led me to Skyhold. For some reason, he led me to the place where the Veil – the thing that Deshanna has no clue as to the true reason _why_ it was erected – was brought up. I asked him if he saved my life years ago. Nor he nor I elaborated on it, so I truly… _struggle._ If Fen’Harel was not as the stories say he is, then what is to say that the other gods were?”

“Hm.” Fenris shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never believed in the old elvhen gods. I’ve always wanted to help my fellow elves in Tevinter, and in Tevinter they teach the slaves of the Maker. Andraste was a mortal woman who rose against the Tevinter people; they don’t teach much about _her,_ just that she was some woman who claimed the Maker was her husband. They call her many things, in Tevinter,” he said, grinning at her. “You can guess what they think she had. An elven lover.”

Adhlea snorted. “That’d be hilarious to learn.” She slipped into a lift. “If these Titans are real, we’re about to find the reason my brain was almost turned into a puddle of goo.”

“Can you feel that? We were followed.” Fenris turned. “Show yourself.”

He’d slid his weapons out just enough. Valta came out from behind a rock.

“Sorry,” the shaper said, looking sheepish. “But you two were acting weird.”

“Is Varric with you?” Adhlea asked, narrowing her eyes.

Valta shook her head. “I left Renn, Yenera, and Varric back there. Have you guys been paying attention to what you just discovered? I’ve written it down. She set the book down, leaning over the side of the walkway. “Look. It’s… It’s the heart of the Titan.”

Adhlea peered down.

The song was in her head, now that she thought of it, louder now that they were close to the heart of the problem.

“Come on,” Fenris said, slipping onto the lift with her, waiting for Valta to get on. Valta stepped on it.

He flipped the switch to the lift.

Silence followed them as they journeyed down.

Valta stepped forward first, followed by the two elves.

Adhlea could heard it, the discordant harmony that had slid into her mind. She could hear It, feel it glaring at her with utter hatred.

“It really doesn’t like you,” Valta confirmed.

“Why?” Adhlea dared ask. “We’ve never done anything to you.”

Just for asking, stones rolled from nowhere.

“She’s asking a genuine question,” Valta called. A notable pause was seen as Valta spoke; the stone golem – something Doshiel had actually told her about the summer she was with the Lavellan clan – still formed, but at a notably slower pace.

The golem rose a hand, glowing blue with lyrium. The lyrium exploded, shoving the trio back.

“ _Fenris! Adhlea!”_

_“Valta!”_

Adhlea fell forward, having remained on her feet; Fenris had lunged and grabbed Valta.

Valta groaned as she stood, turning to Adhlea with her eyes literally glowing blue.

The golem became statuary.

 _“Your gods killed the others,”_ Valta said, her eyes glowing. “ _Your gods killed ours, children of the sky. You are both of their skin; you may only be temporary, but you still have power.”_ Valta shook her head – or the Titan shook Valta’s head – and refocused. _“Speak, so I may hear you and decide whether or not I should kill you for coming here, uninvited, shadow.”_

Adhlea ignored the ‘shadow’ comment as she lifted her head.

“Arlathan is gone,” she said, as calmly as she could speak. “Arlathan is gone, and the gods that killed your kin are no longer inside the world. We came to stop the quakes, because you are killing the children of the Stone that you shape. You inhabit the body of a Shaper; tell me if I am lying by her memories.” Adhlea spread her hands. “I honestly came down here because I was hoping to remove the lyrium on my skin because I want to be _me_ again.” She breathed. “My people have suffered. My people have had humans enslave us. They’ve _slaughtered_ us. All we have left is fragments.” She placed her hands on her _vallaslin._ “This honors the god I have chosen to emulate. Mythal. I am not her.” She removed her hands. “If you would like me to see, then show me what they did. _Show me so that I may not make that same mistake.”_

She knelt in front of Valta. Fenris groaned, but followed her direction.

She looked up at Valta, who tilted her head. “ _You would have me show what has been done to us?”_

“And you may see the fragments of what I –“

“We,” Fenris interrupted.

“-the fragments _we_ know, Titan.”

Adhlea thought she was prepared.

She was _wrong._ Gods, _was she wrong!_

Images, too fast for her mortal mind to take, burned themselves behind her eyes.

Lyrium deposits were titan blood. A result of the _death of a titan._

_We were more than the few that remain._

The Titan, in return, took her memories. Took everything, and put it back. They took it roughly – and gave it back, gently.

 _They were not gods,_ the Titan murmured. _You are not of the Stone. The Stone-children that remain… I hear you, child of the sky. Remember, child of the sky. THEY WERE NOT GODS._

Valta released them. Fenris retched.

Adhlea fell forward, head on the stone. She would not be surprised if the tears she felt coming from her eyes was actually blood.

 _They were not gods,_ she thought, stomach roiling in nausea. She could vaguely see Deshanna, every time the ‘gods’ were mentioned as being such: The warm smile, the tightening of the eyes – Deshanna somehow knew.

Adhlea heaved, sick to her stomach. Fenris held her hair as she was violently sick.

Everything went dark. The Titan’s heart was covered, protected by the golem.

“Your marks aren’t glowing like before,” Valta murmured.

“What,” Varric’s very shaken voice said, “did we just see?”

“Well, Valta here got possessed and Adhlea has just had her eyes opened about her gods.”

“They are not,” she murmured, stomach roiling again. “They are not gods.”

_They are not gods._

~:~

Cassandra turned to welcome the Inquisitor and her party back with a smile ready. Instead, both the elves looked like death had decided to abandon them halfway through the job; Adhlea’s face was smeared with blood.

Cassandra knew that days had passed, probably even a week. But what, by the Maker’s name, had happened to them?

“Good news, everyone!” Renn called. “The quakes have stopped, and no more darkspawn.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “Slightly bad news: our Shaper has some wild tales to tell. So do our elven guests.”

Cassandra and Cole listened with disbelief and calmness. Respectively.

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra groaned. “Nobody will believe this unless they have seen it.” She eyed the two elves. “And they’re not glowing as much.”

“Yeah,” Adhlea muttered, sounding like crap. “This is a tale that… honestly, who the fuck would believe us?” She shook her head. “I barely know what happened, other than the fact that my people have worshipped and deified _murderers!_ The Titans did nothing but what they were told!”

Cassandra sighed.

“Varric,” she said, glancing at him. “What would you suggest?”

Varric snorted. “This shit could fill a hundred books,” he offered with a smirk. “Hell, it’d probably sell a lot better than the _Champion of Kirkwall_ or _Swords and Shields.”_

Cassandra refused to flush at that.

“No matter what we do, our job is done,” Adhlea said, standing. “We should leave. All of us.”

~:~

Lace Harding stared at them with wide eyes. They were covered in filth and gore and were the marks _pulsing?_ Weird.

 _Everything_ that happened around the Inquisitor was weird.

They only offered her smiles and greetings before leaving her alone, heading back to where they’d last seen the Iron Bull and the others.

Harding didn’t know what had happened. But the Inquisitor – if she’d looked _confused_ before, she looked like her entire faith was challenged and she didn’t know what to think.

She looked like she was having a crisis of faith.

Honestly, Harding felt for her.

~:~

“Hey, Boss. You bring something shiny back?”

“Only Valencia,” Adhlea muttered, staring at the fire with a sad expression.

The Iron Bull wondered if she was gonna mope again.

“I’m _so sorry_ for not going down there with you!” Elaine burst out. “From now on, I’ll go wherever you go, even if it _is_ caves and –“

“No,” Adhlea said, stopping her from talking. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be down there anyway,” she added with a half-smile. “It was terrible.”

The Iron Bull grunted. “You look like shit, Boss. Need an elfroot potion?”

She hesitated, then nodded. He tossed one to her. She drank it down.

“We met some darkspawn,” Yenera offered. “Adhlea bottled some of it up after we killed the –“

Adhlea stood and rushed out of the immediate camp. Sounds of retching could be heard.

Fenris rifled through her pack and grimaced as he pulled out some vials.

“With how often she throws up, it’s not surprising she’s so thin,” Fenris said with a weak smile, shoving the vials at him. “Can you carry those? I don’t think she’s up for it.”

The Iron Bull made a face, but didn’t dare hand them off to Elaine or Sera.


	66. Chapter 66

Solas met her outside Skyhold, a small smile on his face. She smiled weakly at him. Something else had gone wrong; or something unexpected had happened.

“I have to debrief with Josephine and Leliana, but I’ll come visit you after,” she promised, sliding past him.

She did. She stepped into the Rotunda, late when all but the night-owls were awake. Solas was reading a book, a heavy tome on Dalish mythos. Mostly because he was bored; these myths contradicted each other so much it was slightly amusing.

“They’re not gods.” Solas looked up at her. She was sitting on the steps, leaning against the wall.

“I’m sorry?”

“The… so-called _gods.”_ She gestured limply to her _vallaslin._ “They’re not gods. Why would the People – why are they called that, then? I can’t think of any reason, but the titans –“

Solas dropped his tome on the desk, standing as quickly as he could. “You met the _Titans?”_

He’d not met them, per se; he knew of them as Mythal’s general. She’d told him stories. And when he’d become one of the named Evanuris, he’d learned the truth. The elves needed a stable place, and so they’d made one. They’d killed the titans who’d shaped below the earth.

“I met _one_ ,” Adhlea breathed. “And it showed me that the gods are _not_ the gods.” She looked up at him, looking troubled. “I am Dalish,” she said to him, her eyes wide. “But I… I have learned they were terrible. In all my life, I have only heard about them _helping._ ”

Solas swallowed. “Perhaps they were not gods,” he said, neutrally. “But they were locked away by the Dread Wolf, were they not?”

“Yes,” Adhlea said. “That’s what the Fall of Arlathan was about. Fen’Harel locked the Forgotten Ones in the Void, and the Elvhen gods in the Fade.”

“Yes,” Solas agreed. “But… did you ever wonder _why?”_

Adhlea frowned. “Because Fen’Harel was mad,” she said, repeating the story. “I knew the stories weren’t all completely truthful, but I never thought about how much was _missing.”_ She swallowed. “Yet, no matter what the titan said, I feel like I cannot fully shake off Mythal’s presence.”

“Do the stories say that they were gods?” Solas questioned quietly.

Adhlea frowned. “Not the versions with their names,” she said, quietly. “Except Ghilan’nain. She’s the Mother of Halla.”

 _That’s true. The stories are true,_ da’len; _they were quite like most monarchies in this world. Corrupt, arrogant; if only I could tell you…_

“Well, I have spent years in the Fade,” Solas admitted, quietly. “And the stories I heard of most of them were cruel beyond reckoning.” He paused. “If it helps,” he added, “think of them as extremely powerful beings who were deified and called ‘gods’. I… _know_ this is hard for you.” He settled next to her on the steps. For a moment, she said nothing.

“Well.” She turned and looked at him with a forced smile. “ _I’m_ never going back to Orzammar. Ever.”

He chuckled quietly. “I did not wish to go because I dislike the cut-off feeling.” She nodded.

“I can see why. The Stone is… the opposite of the Fade.” Her smile became more natural. “Also, the titan made my eyes bleed. It hurt. My brain felt like it was melting.”

“I can understand why,” Solas muttered dryly. “Invasions of an unwilling mind puts strain on the unwilling mind.”

She nodded.


	67. Chapter 67

Adhlea scowled at the War Room report. “Our stores of lyrium doubled? Who?”

“Not the templars,” Cullen said, looking ill. “We’ve maintained strict rationing.”

Josephine coughed, her brown eyes glaring at the commander. The commander rolled his eyes before glancing at Adhlea. “I haven’t told you, but I’m taking myself off lyrium. The risks of it being corrupted…” He trailed off.

“Oh.” Adhlea swallowed in surprise. “Well, I hope you know I rely on you a lot, Commander; if you ever need a day to yourself to… er. Continue not taking lyrium, then I will allow it?” She bunched her brows together. “What I mean is that what you’re doing is admirable, and I will support it to the end.” She offered him a smile. “If you _do_ need that day off, though, feel free to send in a temporary replacement.”

“I… was actually going to request you find another templar to help your efforts,” the man said.

Adhlea stared at him.

“Fuck no,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You’d be begging for your position back before the night is over. I deny that request.”

“Templars do not –“ Adhlea raised a finger, stopping him.

“Shh,” she ordered. “ _You are not leaving_ until your ability is severely compromised, _if_ it is.” She returned her attention to the report. “Find out who’s doing this, but it will need discretion.” She glanced over to Leliana and set the report in ‘her’ pile. “Elaine, your parents wrote you.” Adhlea pushed the paper to Elaine’s pile. She stopped at the final paper. “ _Deciding the duchy?_ Doesn’t Celene do this?”

“Celene has not particularly paid much attention to her people outside of the entertainment balls,” Leliana admitted. “The three are fighting between each other. Monette is a child, more suited for the Chantry; more than likely Jean-Gaspard would fight us; Caralina has more gold, but with the trade we’ve secured with Val Royeaux and even Orzammar we’re not in desperate need.”

“I see.” Adhlea frowned.

“Of the three of them, Jean-Gaspard knows the people. He could also aide our cause,” Josephine added.

“Cullen,” Adhlea said, looking up at the templar. Cullen straightened. “It’s… probably dumb, but could we recruit Jean-Gaspard _without_ giving him the duchy? And… Josephine. Wait. No.” Adhlea frowned. “Wait, I got it. Can you, diplomatically, arrange for Monette to come here so I may meet her? Or would that be seen as favoritism?”

“I can quietly arrange for it,” Leliana said, “but it might help if I knew what you spoke.”

Adhlea tapped the map, circling a little area of it with ink.

“This area is under Grand Duke Gaspard’s purview,” she said. “I think it might be best if we chose whomever might get along with him. Whatever that gets us.”

“It would most likely make Jean-Gaspard buckle any time your husband ordered him to do anything; that will breed resentment. I would suggest Monette, as while she IS looked after by a Chantry mother, Caralina would inevitably make Lydes bankrupt. Besides, she _is_ married to the Duke of Val Firmin; she’s got more than enough power.” Leliana gained the stunned looks of the people in the room. “What? My spies _are_ reading the reports the Iron Bull gives us.”

“Right… _Those,”_ Cassandra said, sounding unsure.

“I forgot he was a spy,” Adhlea said bluntly.

“Right. So Monette it is,” Cullen said after a moment. “I can definitely recruit Jean-Gaspard to the Inquisition.”

“I’ll spread a rumor about Caralina,” Leliana nodded.

“I’ll secure a meeting with Monette,” Josephine said. “But… As she _is_ devout, it would be best to not speak of your beliefs. Not everyone is as free as you are, Inquisitor.”

Adhlea waved her hand. “Not a problem right now.” Noting their incredulous looks – she _had_ been vocal in her previous beliefs – she sighed. “In Orzammar, what I believed to be truth was stomped on and completely torn apart. I now struggle in that area whether or not to believe in what I thought was real. Now, the lyrium stores – are they normal lyrium, not corrupted?”

She cocked an eyebrow at them questioningly, making it clear she was moving on to the more pertinent subjects.

“Normal lyrium,” Leliana replied after glancing down. “It’s puzzling, but not too shocking. Should we add a rotation to checking them?”

“Hmm.” Adhlea thought about it. “How often are they checked?”

“Once a day, at midday,” Leliana said, “but we’ve spread the talk of random checks around to let them know we’re watching.”

“You don’t have templars going in there, correct?”

Cullen shook his head. “Never,” he said. “Too much of a risk.”

“Then have apostates check it,” Adhlea ordered. “Except Allana. I’ve heard too much of her ability to explode the smallest of things.”

Elaine shivered. “Agreed. Don’t let Allana check it.”

“The Empress is having a ball soon in Val Royeaux,” Josephine mentioned, setting another letter down. “And we have several messages from a Ser Fairbanks in the Emerald Graves; some of which mention Corypheus.”

“Speaking of the evil magister,” Leliana said, jumping into the conversation, “we now, thanks to your efforts in Tevinter, know Corypheus’ real name. Sethius of House Amladaris. It’s the house of the Archon.”

Adhlea waved her hand dismissively. “If you can find a way to get it to the Black Divine, discreetly, then I shall… Oh, I don’t know. Write him and tell him flowery stuff.” Adhlea checked over the piles of missives. “Anything I’m missing?”

“Oh. One last thing. A letter from the Lord of Wycome. He’s invited you to an event directly after the Val Royeaux ball you’re attending.” Josephine produced the piece of parchment. “Apologies, it was sent right before you left for Orzammar.”

“It’s fine. Hmm. I feel as though I’m missing something else…” Adhlea frowned.

“The ball in Val Royeaux – I feel as though I should mention that it’s addressed to the _Inquisitor,_ not Duchess,” Cullen said, making Adhlea grimace. “I’m not sure if that makes much of a difference, though.”

“I’m assuming Empress Celene will want me to make an appearance at the ball simply so that she can dig into my loyalties. Unlike what I’ve heard of the Winter Ball – as I have never been invited to one, due to my being an elf and tendency to live at the chateau in the Frostbacks when I’m not with my clan – this one is purely for Orlesian nobility. The Winter Ball will have representatives from everywhere.” Adhlea hesitated. “I did tell you of what happened in the future, when I recruited Dorian, yes?”

“You did,” confirmed Leliana. “We believed you on that front – I’ve not had time to show my fighting abilities to the masses.”

 _And yet everyone is still terrified of you,_ Adhlea thought privately before clearing her throat.

“Right, well. I’m of the opinion Corypheus took advantage of the power vacuum created by Celene’s death.” The door behind her opened and shut, clanking armor indicating Cassandra’s arrival. “Seeker.” Adhlea nodded at her before returning her attention to the map. “What Leliana told me then made me think.”

“There’s really only one possible person to do so,” Leliana frowned. “Your husband.”

Adhlea looked up, face blank. “Cassandra, you think Gaspard will kill Celene?”

“If we are speaking from what you believe Leliana to have said, yes,” Cassandra admitted.

“Elaine?”

“No other person,” Elaine frowned.

“It _has_ to be him,” Josephine muttered.

“The way you’re talking you think it’s someone else,” Cullen frowned.

“I’m not surprised. The person in question is like everyone seems to do with Cole. She’s easily forgettable.” Adhlea straightened. “If Gaspard ceases to be the issue, she will undoubtedly attempt to kill Celene.” Adhlea folded her arms. “She’s got political clout – through being conveniently dismissed as a non-threat – and the nastiness to do so. I’ve only met her a few times, yet each I really, _really_ did not like her.” The woman in question switched from being kind to underhanded nastiness with the drop of a coin.

“Who is it?” Elaine asked, sounding fed up. Adhlea smirked.

“Florianne de Chalons, my sister-in-law.”

There was a silence.

“You have a sister-in-law?” Josephine wondered.

“She helped me dress for my meeting with the Divine,” Adhlea muttered, mostly to herself.

“Oh,” Leliana realized. “I _thought_ that dress was odd. You were very terrified, then.” Leliana tilted her head. “May I ask _why?”_

“You,” Adhlea admitted. “You are a very scary woman.”

Leliana looked pleased.

“What if she’s _not_ the perpetrator?” Cassandra demanded.

“That, Cassandra,” Adhlea said, looking over to her, “is why you are coming with me to the Val Royeaux ball. I’m dragging Blackwall with me.”

“And the Champion,” Leliana added. “Who will be guarded by Fenris. Varric has also asked to come.”

“Sure, why not have everyone the Seeker currently hates in the same carriage?” Adhlea suggested. Sarcastically.

“I do not hate Blackwall, you, or Fenris,” Cassandra muttered. Josephine nodded.

“And anyway, it’ll just be you, Hawke, the Seeker, and Blackwall in the carriage,” Leliana informed her with a small smirk. “Varric and Fenris are merely extra security.”

“Lovely,” Adhlea sarcastically muttered. “I’ll be ready in the morning. Care to inform Hawke and Blackwall?”

“Shouldn’t we have someone _else_ to escort me and you?” the Seeker questioned, scowling.

Adhlea snorted, very unladylike. “I’m _married,”_ Adhlea pointed out. “If one of the lords –“

“Hawke is not going as herself, just to be clear,” Leliana interrupted. “Instead, you shall be accompanied by a Lady Raina Trevelyan, the little sister to Lady Trevelyan here.”

Elaine winked. “I’ve always _wanted_ a sixth little sister,” she sighed with a roll of her eyes. Adhlea frowned. Elaine sighed. “Okay, it’s – House Trevelyan has one main bloodline. That’s the one I’m in. House Trevelyan also has around forty people in it due to my House being one of the nicer houses and claiming that _oh, how about you just put this one in jail because you’ll be insulting House Trevelyan because so-and-so was actually a Trevelyan which makes THIS PERSON a Trevelyan._ My mother hid her pregnancies very well – so well, nobody knew I had five little siblings and an older brother who cannot inherit the titles.” Elaine shrugged.

“So… basically your parents are good people who lie to save other people?” Adhlea frowned. “If only people in Orlais were nice like that…”

“Allana is apparently my father’s daughter,” Elaine said cheerfully. “Caused a bit of a scandal when people found out, but Allana’s mother was a maid after she blew up the lyrium, with everyone else in the House agreeing. And since House Trevelyan doesn’t leave Ostwick without a damn good reason, there’s not really much to risk. I’ve still got to send a letter to my parents – I forgot to write to them about Allana, caused a bit of worry but they’re rather excellent liars – to tell them about their newest bastard child, but I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Adhlea just closed her eyes. “Okay. Has there been anyone to offer to escort her to the ball?”

“Yes!” Josephine’s eyes glittered. “A Lord Francois de Carvana. Handsome.”

“And if Fenris heard you say that, he would murder you,” Leliana replied placidly.

“Agreed,” Josephine snorted. “I’ve appropriated a color scheme – blue and red for the Inquisition, but you’ll not be wearing the suit I originally planned. Leliana,” here she shot Leliana a poisonous look, “said _my_ taste was awful. This _is_ an Orlesian dance, so you’ll be wearing Orlais-heavy clothes. I’m having them delivered to the Lord Carvana’s residence; he has graciously offered his home for the Inquisition.”

“Bold,” Adhlea murmured, thinking of the quiet lord, “but he’s likely to be overlooked.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Leliana nodded. “Even if his name was used in conjunction to yours and Hawke’s – or Lady Trevelyan’s, in this case – while it would garner some curiosity, it wouldn’t matter in the long run. He’s _only_ a minor lord, and he’s under Gaspard’s rule, anyway.” Leliana tapped the place were Carvana was, on the outskirts of Verchiel. “While you’re gone, my spies will begin collecting information about who is going to the Halamshiral Winter Ball.”

“Probably all of the usual,” Josephine muttered. “She always invites the other monarchs to the ball, but they’re usually busy. After all, _they’re_ legitimately ruling their countries.”

Adhlea was not the only one surprised by Josephine’s words.

“You’re not wrong,” Cassandra grimaced. “I believe they’re still rather horrified by Celene’s actions _at_ Halamshiral to go _to_ Halamshiral.”

“Halamshiral was beautiful,” Adhlea admitted. “In a dark, twisted way. I didn’t see it before she built her personal home on it, but the only time I visited… It really was a beautiful place.”

“It is sad to think that such beauty came out of such violence,” Elaine murmured.

For a moment, there was silence.

“Are we done for the day?” Adhlea wondered.

“I think so,” Leliana replied, moving to pick her reports out. “I still have concerns about the rifts, but…”

“Nothing can be done about that,” Adhlea reminded her. The loss of her magic was still poignant, but keeping busy helped, a bit. “I screwed the world when I decided to help the Black Divine. Did you know he’s a mage?”

“WHAT?!”

The shout was echoed by five people. Not expecting it, Adhlea flinched and dropped some of her papers.

“Yes,” she said, rubbing an ear with a shoulder. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No, I think you neglected to mention it,” Leliana bit out. “ _How_ did you figure it out?”

“He felt like a mage,” Adhlea replied, nonplussed. “Oh… right. You’re human, and only one of you is a mage.” Adhlea touched her glowing _vallaslin._ “Quick lesson: Seems Dalish mages can feel other mages, human, elf… Whatever race. Obviously not a dwarf, but definitely other races. Dalish mages can, I think, sense elvhen mages better because. Well. We’re _elvhen._ And the Black Divine and I shared a carriage and danced together – kind of hard not to notice.”

That, and on the carriage ride to the second residence, once they’d discussed everything that needed to be and Adhlea had spoken to the Crow he’d had there, he’d answered Adhlea’s question of the previous Black Divine’s death. _He slipped down some stairs on ice,_ the Black Divine had said with a dark smirk and empty eyes. _I witnessed it. A mage nearby the Black Divine cast an ice spell and he died. Tragic._

She shivered even now, recalling his unfeeling eyes.

“You _danced_ with the Black Divine?” Josephine turned away and fumbled with parchment. Withdrawing four, she examined them. “How did that slip? You can _dance?”_

“I kind of had to learn…? Why is this such a surprise?” Adhlea turned to Leliana quizzically.

Leliana was looking down at her many, many reports, forcing them to fit neatly in a pile.

“With all due respect, Inquisitor,” Elaine said, awkwardly, “you… you have _standard_ social skills, and you know how to threaten people without _actually_ threatening them, but we’ve… Never seen you dance.”

Adhlea rolled her eyes, turned, and winked at the group.

“I have many, _many_ unseen skills,” she said, sweeping out of the War Room with a sigh of relief. She left the area of the place and smiled at passing people, letting herself relax as she walked to her brother’s room.

She rapped on the door. Nothing.

“My lady, Syven’s outside.”

Adhlea nodded to the servant in thanks, jogging outside. Syven was indeed out there, helping out Horsemaster Dennet; once he saw her, though, he was on his way.

“Hey, sis.” Syven looked entirely comfortable in his normal fighting leathers, though absent of the over-jacket and most of his weapons. “I’ve been trying to see you, but you’ve been a bit busy.”

Adhlea nodded and started to walk. She was dressed in the simple blue everyday clothes she found in her drawers. They probably drew some looks, but the duo just walked in silence.

“Can I tame your hair?” Syven asked, abruptly. “It’s been setting my teeth on edge. First the Fade damaged it and now look!” He reached up and pulled her hair, bringing half a lock forward. “It’s white at the ends!”

“I’m lucky, then.” Adhlea smirked at Syven’s look. “But yes, you can help me with my hair. As long as I can with yours.” A fond look was shared between them.

See, after their mother had died, Keeper Deshanna had taken them under her wing. Keeper Deshanna had trained them, yes, but she also had three other orphans to help raise as well as her own daughter. Adhlea and Syven had learned from the others how to keep their hair mildly decent; both twins had found that doing hair in times of stress helped them out. Doing each other’s hair was… Well, it was fun. And relaxing. Both of them could talk without any obligations or fear of offending. It was what helped get Adhlea through her attack, her first years living with Gaspard when he came to collect her… The one time with Solas wasn’t _awkward,_ exactly, it had just been… She’d done it to prove her own trust in him, and he hadn’t, Adhlea felt, understood that it was something that soothed her.

(She also realized she’d been going to him when _she_ needed something. Perhaps she’d go to him and ask if _he_ needed something next time.)

They found a quiet spot near where Blackwall had given himself a niche – the man was an amazing woodworker – and climbed into the loft. It was open, tons of boards were missing… All in all not a place people would, hopefully, think to check.

She started on his hair first, the younger Lavellan taking his outer-shirt off.

“Why _exactly_ do you have three layers on?” Adhlea asked.

“Because I don’t trust Sera not to steal my shit,” Syven immediately answered.

“Oh, okay.” Syven produced a brush. “Where – you know what, it’s mine, isn’t it?”

“Yep. I also washed my hair today, so no bugs!”

He sounded fakely cheerful. Adhlea decided not to hit him.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Cassandra talk. Some things happen with the Inquisitor's family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE. THE UPCOMING BALL IS AN ORGINAL PART. THIS IS NOT THE HALAMSHIRAL BALL.

“Where is the Inquisitor?” It was almost sundown when Cassandra decided to look for her and finalize their plans for the morning. Blackwall jerked his thumb towards the barn that was missing most of… well, it wasn’t actually a barn. There were just a few boards here and there in a vague shape of one, complete with a set of stairs.

“I wouldn’t bother her today,” he went on to say as Cassandra started forward. “Left corner, front.”

That was the only place, really, if you went up the steps, to sit. Cassandra spotted a dark head with a long braid; noting the length of that braid Cassandra immediately assumed it was her brother’s. Taking another step forward, she saw a head moving and arms working. A loud laugh from her brother darted over the clearing, followed by another, slightly higher-pitched one.

Then the Inquisitor tilted, flailed – her brother righted her with his left hand, other hand still deftly working on the braid.

“Perhaps we’ll simply have to finish tomorrow’s plans later.” Cassandra turned to Blackwall. “You know you’re coming along, correct?”

“Of course, Seeker.” Blackwall dusted his hands off. “I suppose it’s _my_ turn for a life-defying trip, eh?”

Cassandra gave him a scowl.

“Seeker!” Varric’s amused voice floated over to her. “Here’s the Champion. And a _signed copy_ of my current best-seller, _The Champion of Kirkwall.”_

Cassandra flushed as she turned to Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall gave her an awkward smile as Cassandra took the book from him with her usual scowl.

“Hi! You’re the woman who kidnapped Varric, aren’t you?”

Varric laughed.

“I’ll leave you two ladies to talk!” he snorted.

“It was on the order of the Divine,” Cassandra replied.

“I know,” Hawke said, her demeanor cooling. “Let’s walk. I don’t want to disturb those two up there.” She nodded towards the barn.

Cassandra nodded, hiding her book as she started walking.

“I don’t, _ever,_ want to be leading this Inquisition,” Hawke said, her voice low as they walked forward. “So, I would’ve said ‘fuck you’ anyway, had it not been for Fenris saying something about Corypheus. I have already killed him once – or so I thought. He _will_ take notice if he hears of the Inquisition gathering an army.”

Cassandra inclined her head. “He will start doing the same,” she muttered.

“He has, yes. The Venatori.” Hawke flashed her a smirk. “I agreed to go with Adhlea to check out the political climate here. Some people I’m fond of want to see if Adhlea has the balls to look the Empress in the eye and tell her _no._ I don’t doubt it’s terrifying to look your own monarch in the eyes, but I live in Kirkwall.” A not-so-nice smile twisted Hawke’s lips. “I’ve heard many pleasant things about Adhlea, but I want to know things that might be a detriment to the Inquisition. _Not_ because I want the post – haha, no, that’s _way_ too much power – but because I don’t want to watch her get corrupted by that power.”

“She is naïve,” allowed Cassandra. “She does not care much for templars for reasons I do not understand; she advocates strongly for the servants. She has a temper, but _has_ taken the effort to reign it in. I… do not fully understand why you ask this.”

“She is a Dalish elf in the middle of a group of humans,” Hawke said, sharply. “The last Dalish elf I met betrayed me and then decided to come back to me after it was clear I was winning. I want to make sure she’s not going to do the same to the Inquisition.”

Cassandra considered her. “Your Dalish companion betrayed you and went back to you? Yet you still trust her?”

“Merrill… Merrill betrayed us to the Arishok,” Hawke admitted. “I told the Arishok I didn’t have his Maker-damned tome; she took it out and gave it over to him. Then I was challenged, the Arishok was killed, Merrill returned to being my ally. Still. I _like_ the Inquisition.”

“She won’t betray the Inquisition, Champion.”

Both women turned to Blackwall in shock, not having realized he’d been following them. “Sorry, I didn’t want to irritate the Inquisitor by getting a tool I left in the barn. Couldn’t help but overhear,” he smirked. “Inquisitor Lavellan is working day and night to get information to the Inquisition; she led us to Skyhold after surviving Corypheus’ first attack, feet bleeding and half-dead. You should’ve seen her when she woke up.” Blackwall shook his head. Cassandra had seen the look of pure panic that had flashed on Adhlea’s face when they’d started singing to her. It had been supremely uncomfortable for her. “She’s not the type of person to backstab others; nobility… Now that’s a different arena. You’ll get the chance to see her in her arena.”

“Was the First Enchanter invited?” Cassandra wondered idly.

Hawke shook her head. “No. Her lover is ill.” Hawke smiled at Blackwall’s look of surprise. “Woman might be one of the _most_ unbearable I’ve ever met, but when it comes to _her darling Bastien_ she’s like a school-child with her first crush.”

~:~

“Varaina, my sister!” Varaina turned to see the Inquisitor darting over to her, a smile on her lips. “I apologize for not coming to check up on you sooner.”

“It’s fine,” Varaina waved off. “I’m busy helping around.” She waved vaguely around the castle. “Cassandra is preoccupied with her search for Lord Seeker Lucius, but it’s not _terribly_ pertinent; even _if_ there’s an imposter, there’s been no sighting of another double, so we are at a very long impasse.”

“I know,” Thalia snorted.

“Speaking of _pertinent_ things,” Varaina said, narrowing her eyes, “should you not be getting ready for the Val Royeaux ball?”

“Ach. It’s not the Halamshiral ball, so I’m not _terribly_ worried,” Thalia waved off her words. “How are you doing?”

Honest concern laced the other woman’s face.

“I think I’m settling down,” Varaina said, slowly. She walked over to a bench, settling her papers down. Thalia followed. “It’s been quite an adjustment, but I enjoy having a home.”

“You think of Skyhold as a home?” The shadow of a smile passed over Thalia’s face.

“Of course,” Varaina shrugged. “It’s beautiful.”

She gestured around her.

“I see.” Thalia sat next to her. “Is there anything you wish to do, specifically?”

Varaina hesitated.

“I’d like to be a healer,” she said, looking at her hands. “But when I asked Adan if he could teach me, he said that there was something I must get from Fenris.”

“His forgiveness, I presume,” Thalia murmured.

“Aye,” Varaina said, “because if I don’t, being a mage healer means nothing. Mage healers need peace of mind and peace of heart.”

Thalia hummed before standing.

“Varaina, meet me in my quarters later, please.” A light danced in the Inquisitor’s eyes. “I’ll be there later tonight.”

Varaina nodded, tilting her head. _I don’t want the forgiveness forced,_ she thought. _I have a feeling I’ll be seeing Fenris later on._

~:~

“I need your help, brother.”

Syven blinked to see a surly-looking Fenris standing next to his sister.

“Okay,” he drawled, “but you’ve got to be getting ready to leave tomorrow.”

She gave him an absolutely filthy look, one more suited to the seedy places rather than her face. He threw a matching one back.

“And you’re about the two-hundredth person to remind me,” she snapped. “Fenris and Varaina are at a crossroads. He cannot forgive her for betraying him. At the same time, he can’t even remember her.”

Fenris scowled. “Is that so bad? It’s bad enough she tried to get me to return to him –“

Syven held up his hand. “Did Varaina attempt to do it for selfish reasons?”

“Yes,” Adhlea said for Fenris. “To become Denarius’ apprentice.”

Syven snorted.

Fenris scowled.

“What?” Syven asked, scoffing. “Dumbass woman. Elves are worse than scum in Tevinter.”

“Not much better _here,”_ Fenris said snidely.

“You’ve got a point,” shrugged Syven. “Out of all of us, Adhlea here is treated the best, but I wouldn’t call her a normal example of an elf anyway.”

His sister flipped him off with a scowl.

“Anyway, Denarius must’ve been influential.” Syven settled against the wall. “Convincing, whispering oily lies in her ears.” Syven glanced to Adhlea. Her lips thinned before she turned, giving him permission. “Similar to what happened to Adhlea years ago.”

Fenris arched a brow, obviously waiting.

“It’s not my story to tell,” Syven said at last, closing his eyes. “Needless to say, she was lied to and then hurt. Similar to what would have happened to Varaina.” He stared at Fenris. “She made the best of a shitty situation – Varaina, that is – and did everything she thought she should. You cannot fault her for that.” He paused. “Forgiveness is not easy.” He jerked his chin to the door. “You should ask Adhlea.”

Fenris scowled. “Seems like Adhlea has more experience in my kind of hatred than I thought.”

“Well, there’s a clear reason for that,” Syven said, coolly. “But that’s an entirely different kind of hatred. Look, if it was me, and _Adhlea_ was in the position Varaina was in, I’d forgive her.”

Skepticism flashed across Fenris’ face.

“Just like that?” he demanded.

“Just like that,” nodded Syven. “Because she is my sister. I’d do _anything_ for my sister.”

Fenris bit his lip.


	69. Chapter 69

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT THE HALAMSHIRAL BALL, in case you didn't see the last chapter note.

_Divine of Tevinter,_

_The name of Corypheus is Sethius Amladaris. Your books were most helpful in discerning his identity; I have taken the liberty of sending them with this letter. Should it ever reach you._

_What you did cannot be forgiven, Divine. Your actions have caused a rift between Tevinter and the Inquisition. That aside, the Inquisition thanks you for allowing Magister Denarius’ unfortunate passing to outlaw what you did._

_Should you wish to repair the rift, the Inquisition might be receptive._

_Inquisitor Lavellan_

~:~

_Syven Galifalon Lavellan,_

_I have managed to write this as I await my sentencing. The new lord of Wycome was less than pleased of our agreement with the previous lord, who passed away in spring. Much of our clan is gone, with only the elders here to provide the illusion of a working camp._

_It falls to you and Adhlea, Syven, to keep the clan safe. Not from Fen’Harel, exactly; be wary of his appearance even still. From every threat. The Veil is weakening, I am certain you have felt it._

_I am afraid,_ da’len, _this will be the last time I write to you. With Ghimyean I have left a book of writings and strict instructions. Adhlea will be coming as soon as she can. I will leave instructions with her, too. I loved you, Adhlea, Ghimyean, Enaste, Halier, and Hallen as my blood-children… Even as Enaste_ was, _I loved you all equally._

_I believe, as Keeper, I should not write a terribly tragic letter. I just want all of you to know I am very proud of who you are and no matter what you become, I will always love you._

_Tell Solas that I will be watching him_ very _carefully in the Fade._

 _Dar’atisha,_ da’len.

_Keeper Deshanna_

~:~

Val Royeaux was bustling as people moved here and there; Adhlea had taken the ear-cuffs she’d worn in Tevinter to wear them for this ball. Adhlea let Fenris , Hawke, Varric, and Blackwall off at Lord Carvana’s home before she and Cassandra went to Gaspard’s residence. As Adhlea did not plan on staying the night, she crisply told the footman – who just so _happened_ to be one of Leliana’s lovely _suggestions_ – to wait for them outside. The butler, who was a human, recognized her _vallaslin_ and hair. Most likely. Adhlea just knew he recognized _her,_ for he bowed and opened the door to the home.

Servants rushed about, several nearly bumping into Adhlea; Adhlea just offered them a smile and kept walking as the butler ducked in after Cassandra.

“I’ll announce you, milady!” the butler blurted. “He’s busy with a guest.”

“No, it’s fine,” Adhlea said, keeping a smile on her face. “I want to _surprise_ him.”

She kept her tone light, her eyes boring into the butler’s with the airs of her title; the butler swallowed and nodded, pressing his lips together tightly as he swung open the door.

 _“Enough,_ Florianne!”

Adhlea entered the room just for Cassandra to shove a shield in front of Adhlea’s face, glass shattering against it.

Adhlea smoothed her skirts at the silence, her face void of emotion as Cassandra let the shield lower.

“Lady Florianne,” she said, her eyes first meeting her sister-in-law’s. “Husband,” she greeted, with no indication she’d seen him since the last time she was in Val Royeaux. “I do hope you’re not upset at me,” she continued, stepping over the glass carefully. “After all, I _did_ send you a message I was arriving today.”

No, she hadn’t.

“Of course,” Gaspard replied, recovering quickly. “Florianne, I have several things I must discuss with my wife. Please show yourself out.”

Florianne sneered, stalking past Adhlea and giving her a fake smile. Adhlea kept up her emotionlessness as she and Cassandra stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“I do hope,” Adhlea said after a moment, “my arriving here isn’t _too_ inconvenient.”

Gaspard eyed her warily. _That_ was a new look.

“Why are you here?” he demanded. “You said you’d never step a foot inside this place.” He took a glass from the mantle, pouring some wine in it.

“I did,” Adhlea agreed, walking to an armchair and arranging herself in it. “Question for you, Gaspard. Are we alone in here?”

He nodded. “We are.” He waved his hands. “The walls are too thick to have ears.”

“Good. Then let me speak plainly.” She folded her hands on her lap, looking at Gaspard with nothing but scrutiny. “Are you planning on killing the Empress?”

The glass in Gaspard’s hand shattered against the fireplace flagstones.

“That,” Adhlea said, softly, “is indeed telling, _husband._ You’re usually quite better at hiding things.”

“I do not want you getting involved,” the other said, his eyes just as hard as Adhlea’s. “Stay out of Orlesian politics, Thalia.”

Adhlea just gave a cool smile to the man. “I still have a half-year yet,” she said silkily. “Why do you do this for him? Would be easier to wait.”

Gaspard shot her a curious look. “Who? We do this for Orlais.”

Adhlea allowed her body to relax. “And a part of me hoped I was wrong,” Adhlea muttered bitterly, standing. “Tell me, did Florianne tell you how asinine her plan was?”

Gaspard said nothing, only growing pale. He’d been unbalanced from Florianne’s visit; Adhlea simply continued to surprise him.

“Ordinarily, I would actually not care if Celene died,” Adhlea admitted to him. “In fact, while the incident was twelve years ago, the elves wept bitterly and prayed to Fen’Harel that he would end her.” She was not scared to admit it. “As Inquisitor, I am untouchable in the way monarchs are. I will respect that boundary and not attempt anything; but hear this, Gaspard.” She walked up to her husband, tilting her head back and staring him squarely in the eyes. “If you intend on killing Celene, you should know that _I_ **will** stand in your way.”

She turned when he blinked first, striding past the broken glass as she opened the door and jerking her head to Cassandra to follow. Servants still hurried by; Adhlea heard Gaspard bark at someone to clean up the glass.

Dinner at the lord’s home was uneventful; the Lord Francois was nowhere to be found – resting, according to the servants – with everyone looking ill at ease.

“You all know how to behave at a ball like this, correct?” Adhlea asked, fiddling with one of her napkins. “I don’t want to have to remind you that we’re all on a thin leash, here.”

“You don’t,” Cassandra said, waving her hand. “I’m coming as the fourteenth cousin of the King of Nevarra.”

Adhlea glanced at her. “Is this a _Raina_ thing?” Was it like House Trevelyan’s –

“No, I am actually the fourteenth cousin,” Cassandra said, dryly. “I have no chance of obtaining the throne, but I pulled some strings. My sixth cousin likes to see me in uncomfortable positions, so I will not be surprised if he is here.”

“We’re headed to Wycome after this, yes? Are we going through Kirkwall?” Hawke questioned, looking strange with her nose clean. Apparently she really _wasn’t_ recognizable without the smear on her nose. Adhlea did not intend to ask her why she put blood on her nose, anyway.

“No. There’s a couple boats that go to Wycome faster than I got to Tevinter,” Adhlea admitted. “At the moment, one’s docked here. I secured passage in three days’ time.”

“Tomorrow the ball, the day after the boat. Sounds like a solid plan,” Cassandra stated, looking grudgingly respectful.

“Hopefully the man will allow a few clan members to board and take them where they wish. I cannot help but worry.” Adhlea’s face _was_ pinched. “Now, we must finish and get sleep.”


	70. Chapter 70

Empress Celene watched the crowd, a surge of smugness in her breastbone. Nobody dared _not_ show their faces; Gaspard was either late or was publicly snubbing her.

The herald, pre-emptively dismissed, raced back in, sweating disgustingly.

“The…” the herald gasped. “The Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons and his wife, the Inquisitor Lavellan, the Grand Duchess of the Frostbacks.”

Celene’s smirk died as the Grand Duke stepped in, the Inquisitor at his side. Dressed in blue with a mask of the same color to cover only her eyes, the redheaded woman was resplendent. It was an unspoken rule to not dress better than the monarch – yet obviously _this_ elf hadn’t heard. As plainly as she was, it somehow stood out in its simplistic beauty; a long-sleeved dress that had few layers and accentuated the elvhen beauty’s curves.

“Empress.” Gaspard bowed. All the elf did was incline her head. The air was silent with nothing but a whisper.

“Duchess,” Celene said, keeping her voice calm and indifferent. “Do you not show your Empress respect upon coming to a ball that I invited you to?”

“Empress Celene,” the Duchess said, her voice sharp and cold. “With all due respect, I am Inquisitor. You may remove my title as a Grand Duchess if you wish; makes no difference to me at this point in time. In accordance with the writ, I am beholden to none but the Divine.”

“A Divine that is dead, if I might be so callous to remind you,” Celene said sharply, standing.

“Then, by default, the people I am beholden to are her Right and Left Hands, Empress. I thought you read the writ.” Eyes clashed, the elf’s magenta to Celene’s cerulean.

“Hmm.” Celene could think of nothing to say on that matter, abruptly switching topics. “And how was your stay in Tevinter? I heard the Black Divine was _very_ courteous.”

She managed to only halfway hide her victorious smirk as the elf went slightly pale.

“Awful,” the elf said, her voice cheerful despite the pallor.

“Really? I heard you had a _grand_ time; they celebrate mages over there. I would think that you being one would grant them cause to welcome you.” Everyone was watching this back-and-forth, waiting for one to break.

“Truly, Empress. Absolutely awful. I was kidnapped during my stay there. As for the mage question, I would not know, as I am not one.” The court murmured to each other. Celene scowled behind her mask.

“My lady,” Briala murmured in her ear, “perhaps, if you wish, I may get the information you wish to have by merely talking to her.”

Celene gave a short, dismissive nod at her before returning her attention to the elf.

“This _is_ a party,” she said waving her hand. “Celebrating twenty years of my reign.”

The musicians started to play as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

~:~

“The woman muttering in her ear was Briala,” Thalia whispered to Blackwall. “And Cassandra, in the next twenty minutes, do _not_ bring out the sword you managed to slip in here. There is a _no-weapons_ policy Celene upholds more religiously than you the Chant of Light.”

Blackwall choked in amusement at her words on his wine. Adhlea cleared her throat.

“Seeker, kindly have Blackwall understand why he must never _actually_ drink the wine.” Adhlea seemed to sip from her flute before dabbing her lips on a cloth.

“Blackwall, there might be poison in the glasses,” the Seeker hissed at him. He had honestly been shocked at the Seeker’s form in a dress; unlike whenever she wore tunics with cut-off sleeves, her muscles weren’t apparent. She’d also unbraided her hair; instead of being chopped close to the skull the braid made it apparent that she _did_ like her hair at least shoulder-length.

Blackwall winced. “Apologies. I’m not really meant for this type of thing.”

Hawke was taken to the dance floor by the lord. Blackwall turned to Cassandra, but she just scowled at him.

_Never mind, then._

“Shall we have this dance?” Adhlea’s husband returned from… wherever he had been. Adhlea nodded, setting down her wineglass and taking the proffered hands.

Okay, _wow._ His brows shot up as the duo waltzed across the ballroom floor.

“Andraste’s tits,” Blackwall muttered. “She really _can_ dance.”

There was a _twang_ sound. Blackwall turned to see one of the bards standing up, a hole in his stringed instrument and a bow and arrow aimed at Celene. The other bards kept playing.

“What the –“ Cassandra moved. Blackwall put a hand on her arm. The Seeker froze, turning her glare to Blackwall.

“Inquisitor said _not_ to interfere,” he snapped lowly.

Cassandra gestured as a few arrows were shot. “He is _murdering –“_ Cassandra stopped, turning to glare at Adhlea. “Damn it. She was correct. In grand fashion indeed.”

Adhlea returned to them, with Lord Carvana hanging off her arm. The lord looked politely confused.

“Do not interfere,” Adhlea ordered, flicking a slightly nervous glance at the side door. “She’s going to come in, anyway.”

“It’s ridiculous how many arrows he has,” Lord Carvana added lowly, glancing over to the bard. Half his instrument was missing; rather clever, hiding the arrows as the instrument. “Is it the witch who will come in?”

“Indeed,” Adhlea nodded. “It’s what happened last time. Were you at my arrival ceremony?”

“No, merely heard about it. Guards held him back whilst the witch and the Empress lectured him, correct?”

“Yes. If I might recall, this one and the previous assassin do have a similar build.”

“The witch?” Cassandra’s voice was louder than Blackwall thought Adhlea liked, as even she and the lord were talking in concealed mutters.

“Yes, the witch. The Empress’ arcane advisor who _isn’t_ Lady Vivienne,” Adhlea replied, slightly distracted. “I don’t like talking about –“

Adhlea’s eyes widened, sliding into the middle distance.

“Dirthamen’s _bones,_ I never thought – last time she didn’t feel this way,” the elf muttered, her head whipping to stare at the door.

It opened just as the bard fired an arrow at the Empress directly, ice forming and stopping the arrow in its tracks.

Silence reigned, the bards finally stopping. Making it _truly_ a spectacle as everyone turned to see why the bards had stopped. Or, at least, being able to be _obvious_ about it.

“Cutting it a little close, Witch,” the Empress called, sounding dreadfully bored.

“Apologies, my Empress.” The woman exited, waving her hand once more as she descended the stairwell; the bard froze. “Honestly, bard, did you not learn your lesson the last time?” She looked to the Empress. “How do you wish I proceed, my Empress?”

“I tire of his tragic failures,” the woman said, the ice in front of her falling. “Execute him for me, have someone clean up the body.”

“As you wish.” The witch clenched her hand, killing the man instantly. “You!” she pointed to a passing elf. “Hurry and get this body off the floor.”

The elf did so.

The witch pointed towards the bards. “Please, continue.”

They did. The witch continued to descend, her gold eyes locked on their small company.


	71. Morrigan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief introduction on Morrigan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like Morrigan, but she is... necessary. Still, since I don't like her she's only got a brief intro.

Morrigan stared at magenta eyes that were blank.

“Well. ‘Tis indeed an honor to meet you, _Inquisitor.”_ She smirked as she mockingly bowed, showing off her cleavage. “I’ve heard much about your… Inquisition.” She walked around her, touching the elf woman’s Anchor before leaning in to whisper in the duchess’ pointed ear, oh-so-elegantly displayed. “Tell me, how does it feel to not be able to pull from the fade, _da’len?”_

The elf had been trembling against her, so fine a tremble most would not have seen it. Yet at the last elvhen word, the elf whipped around, skirts flaring, her eyes filled with beautiful rage.

The Inquisitor leaned up to whisper in her ear as one might a lover.

“As lovely as it will feel when I rip out your tongue for sullying my language with your human tongue, _shem,”_ the Inquisitor hissed in a low tone. A delightful chill ran down Morrigan’s spine as she moved her head back, smirking openly as she gave a mocking curtsy to the Inquisitor.

“I _do_ hope we can speak again,” Morrigan continued brightly. “I do indeed wish to show off my mirror to you.”

The elf blanched, staring at Morrigan with abject horror before brushing past her.

Morrigan sauntered off, a smirk still curled on her lips.

~:~

“You left early.” Adhlea tried not to explode as she flicked her gaze up to Cassandra and Blackwall.

“I had a prior engagement,” Adhlea said, her knuckles tightening on the book as Gaspard passed the door, his voice low as he spoke with Lord Francois. Hawke entered the room as well; Varric had already retired.

“If you say so,” Cassandra said, doubt in her voice. “I shall prepare for the voyage tomorrow.”

“ _I_ need to get out of these ridiculous frilly Orlesian clothes,” Blackwall grumbled.

“ _You_ need to? I don’t think I’ve ever seen –“

Adhlea threw the book, inches from Hawke’s head. Hawke jerked back, stunned.

“What the hell?” The mage was tense. Fenris appeared from the hallway, shirtless.

Adhlea glared at Hawke.

“The fucking _mirror,”_ she snapped. Hawke paled. _“Merrill gave the Eluvian to the **Witch.**_ Tell me I’m _wrong,_ Hawke; please.” Hawke pressed her lips together.

“Merrill did it because she couldn’t get it out,” Hawke said. “She did it –“

“That’s something that belongs to the _elves, Hawke!”_ Adhlea didn’t realize she’d slammed Hawke up against the wall until she’d done it, red rage blanketing her vision. Much as it had earlier. “Merrill should have given it to the _elves!”_

Hawke grasped her wrists, then jerked her hand back; something green flickered next to her eyes.

“Let me go,” Hawke ordered, her eyes tearing away from the Anchor. “What’s the big deal about a _mirror?”_

“ _That mirror,”_ Adhlea spat, “is one of the _last_ intact Eluvians that the elves of Ancient Arlathan used. Giving one of the _last pieces_ of the elves to the _humans,_ to _her –“_

Adhlea stopped as her head suddenly spiked in pain – not from her _vallaslin,_ but because this rage was not entirely her own.

“This isn’t me,” she said, shakily, releasing Hawke.

“Well, it certainly _is,”_ Hawke said, glaring at her. “I’m glad you decided to show your –“

“ _This isn’t entirely my own rage!”_ Her shout boiled over. “The Anchor – _I cannot feel the magic it’s spitting.”_ No, she couldn’t – but she could feel the pain as it spiked.

Awareness dawned on Hawke’s face as Adhlea fell to her knees, clutching at the Anchor.

“Blood magic?”

“His rage is filling me,” Adhlea whispered. “But I can’t reach him. I don’t understand.”

“Try,” Hawke said, kneeling. “Try to –“

“ _I cannot reach into the Fade!”_ Her shout made Hawke retreat. “I can’t. I _can’t._ I have _tried.”_

No, but the Fade could apparently reach to her. Her Keeper’s magic reached her, dusting against her body like snowflakes. It calmed Adhlea’s Anchor, cutting her off from Syven’s emotions.

Her Keepers’ magic seemed… Terribly sad.

Adhlea jerked up, instinctively knowing that she couldn’t be late to Wycome. She ran out like a crazy woman, leaping – as only a Dalish elf could – on a horse. She spurred the horse forth, wind whipping past her.

She could only pray – a prayer to the _shem_ Maker, as unintentional as it might be – that she was not too late.


	72. Chapter 72

She entered Wycome in the early hours of morning a few days later, rain lashing her form. Fenris and Hawke had managed to catch up to her. She first entered the _shem_ village, hurrying into the inn. People stared as she marched up to the bartender; a bartender she knew only because she’d been one of the few curious children to come near clan grounds. An old friend.

“Please,” she asked, well-aware of her dress being soaked and muddy. “Please, Mabel. My clan.”

The bartender peered into her face, compassion crumpling it as Mabel’s eyes met hers.

“Oh, Addy.” Mabel shook her head; Adhlea didn’t begrudge the _shem_ she’d been sort-of friends with the nickname, too worried about her clan. “I’m so sorry. Dip and Bill tried to stop him, but now Dip’s injured.” Pain twisted Mabel’s face as she spoke of her twin. Adhlea closed her eyes.

“Mabel!” Adhlea whipped around to see Mabel’s brother leaning against the door, a hand on a spot. Blood was obvious against the linen of his shirt. “They’re executing them in the morning!”

Mabel flinched. “That’d be your clan,” she said, sounding resigned. “You should stay out of sight, with your clan marking.”

“No.” Adhlea’s voice shook. “I need to know _who_ is dying.” She turned to Dipper. “Dipper, where are they being executed?”

“In from of the new lord’s keep,” Dipper replied. “He already set fire to your clan grounds.”

Adhlea’s heart lurched. She looked to Hawke. “Help him. I can take care of myself.” She stopped Fenris from following. “If I am required to, I shall use my influence as Duchess, Fenris. Please.” He scowled, but returned to standing next to Hawke. Adhlea vanished into the dark.

Footsteps followed after her, running from the tavern.

“Miss!” Adhlea kept running. “ _Miss, please,_ there’s templars there!”

“Then I’ll fucking _kill_ them!” She poured on the speed.

“ _MISS, IF YOU’LL JUST FUCKING WAIT, I CAN HELP!”_

Adhlea slowed down her speed just enough as she stared at the beginnings.

Aravels were on fire. The clan’s ale supply was looted. Everything was tossed every which way.

She reached the main camp and stopped, falling to the ground.

Bodies were scattered and burning. Deshanna’s staff was stuck firmly in the ground, giving off a gentle light.

Adhlea didn’t know what she was doing; the next thing she knew she was pulling the staff out of the ground, her hands catching on some of the knots in the wood. Splinters pierced her hands, but Adhlea kept a firm grasp on it.

The gentle light died as soon as it was out. Adhlea was suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of burned flesh.

“Wait – she’s harmless, she’s not a mage –“

A templar, probably the man who’d followed her, was holding off the templars who’d presumably torched her clan.

“I am the Inquisitor Lavellan.”

Her voice was small in the wind. They did not hear her over the rain.

“ _I AM THE INQUISITOR LAVELLAN!”_ She _screamed it_ in the air, her hand painfully gripping the staff of her Keeper. “You will _hear me!”_ She could not wield the staff as a mage, no.

“We won’t hear _anything_ from an elven _bitch!”_

Adhlea used the staff as Calia had joked all those months ago, twisting and slamming the staff into the man’s face before using the bottom into his junk.

One down. However, they were still overwhelmed. Adhlea clutched onto the staff with everything she had even as she was yanked back. The blonde templar was left behind as they forced her to walk as a slave would; head bowed and forcing her over sharp rocks. She mouthed off – in the middle of things, she didn’t quite know what she said – but it landed her a sharp blow on the face as she was forced.

Into the middle of town, not in front of his keep.

She was shoved forward, landing to fall in front of a calm-looking Deshanna; her staff fell several paces away.

“What’s this?” she heard, her hair being grabbed harshly and yanked back. Adhlea looked into eyes of the son of the lord who’d allowed them a permanent stay; this piece of shit _dared_ to lay a hand on her?

She spat at him, her bloody spit landing in his eyes.

He slapped her with his gauntleted hand.

Adhlea felt the skin split above her eyes; as the rain continued hammering into them, she could tell she was left with a wound across her face.

“You just struck me,” she said, calmly, raising her left hand to touch his arm. “Do you know who I am?” She smiled as his eyes narrowed first in thought and then in shocked realization; a glowing hand was a dead giveaway.

“ _Da’len,”_ Deshanna said, halting her from telling the piece of shit to back off. “I will go into the Fade gladly, if you let her and I have one last moment together,” Deshanna said, her voice impossibly smooth.

Slowly, the lord let Adhlea’s hair drop.

“I will let you have your last moment,” the lord spat, stalking away.

Adhlea turned to Deshanna, only for the Keeper’s hand to yank her close.

“ _Be wary of the Wolf you have met,”_ she hissed. _“Protect what is left with your brother. Never again shall the Dalish submit, lethallan._ ” Her hand dropped, a knife sliding across it. Adhlea gasped as her Keeper stabbed her, then shoved her own bloody hand into the wound, the knife clattering to the ground. “Now, Adhlea. A life for the Fade.” Deshanna smiled. “Ancient blood ritual, Adhlea _._ Now do what you do best, _da’len._ And show them how you _burn.”_

“Time’s up!”

Templars yanked her back, dragging her by her shoulders even as she screamed for her Keeper.

“ _DESHANNA!”_

Deshanna closed her eyes, the lord dragging the knife across her throat.

Adhlea’s scream caught in her throat as something _popped_ inside of her.

“What the _fuck?”_ Her body was released.

“Kee…” She crawled over to her Keeper, the lord kicking her dead body over to Adhlea. “Kee… _Keeper.”_ Her words were ragged, tears in her eyes. “ _Keeper, please…”_ She tugged her head into her lap. “Keeper? Keeper. This all has to be a joke, right?”

“Everyone leave! Including you, girl. Take your dead –“

Adhlea ignored him, bowing her head over Deshanna’s body.

“Please,” she wept. “Please. Don’t be – _don’t be dead!”_

“Girl, you’re disrupting the peace! I won’t have any of you Dalish knife-ears in my grounds!”

The world halted as Adhlea realized that… For all intents and purposes, he’d just declared war on the Dalish. He’d killed her Keeper.

Vengeance was not _exactly_ the Dalish way. Adhlea turned her head to him.

“I have orders,” she said, her voice stuffy and not at all like a proud Dalish woman, “to show you something, Lord Wycome.” Adhlea carefully set her Keeper down. The rain was washing away the blood – the blood that was on Adhlea. “Let me show you…” She outstretched her arms. With a flick of her wrists, Veilfire sputtered to life. “If you _ever.”_ She stepped forward, feeling her own heat sear the air. “Touch another _elf,_ Dalish or not.” She increased the power as much as she could, forcing the fire to grow bigger, “I will come back here.” She stepped forward. “And _you_ will be the _first to die.”_ She continued forward, watching him fall on his ass, trying to scoot backward. She bared her teeth. “I am the fucking Keeper of Clan Lavellan, you piece of _shit._ And I _will_ be telling your actions to the rest of the world.” She bent down next to him, her teeth still bared. “I won’t kill you. You’re much too pathetic for that.” She knelt down next to him. “But you _will_ be begging your gods for mercy if you don’t fucking _leave.”_

She stood and stalked back to her keeper’s cooling body.

“Smite her before she reaches the staff!”

“She is the Herald of Andraste!” Well, she’d not heard _that_ in a while. “She survived _three_ holy smites!”

“And a trip in the Fade!”

She picked up the staff, laid it gently on her Keeper’s body, and picked her Keeper up, mourning in her heart.


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to make it a point to say I don't know shit about Dalish rituals... So I don't know shit about Dalish rituals. There.

Mabel tended to be more friendly to the Dalish than some of the villagers. Mostly because Mabel’s and Dipper’s parents had been killed by bears on the way to the village; it was watching the Dalish take the bear down with such grace and agility that had led Mabel to thank them.

Of course, Dipper had warned her away, but – but Adhlea had been _traumatized_ by the slaughtered human bodies that they happened across in the woods upon meeting _._ Mabel had offered her a biscuit, Adhlea had taken it. The tiny nine-year-old had numbly eaten it.

Mabel had been thoroughly interrogated by Deshanna when the older elf had found them by the river; Deshanna had taken the smaller girl away.

Mabel found her by the river when dusk had fallen.

They’d had a friendship, of sorts; Mabel had given her a nickname – _humans give nicknames to people they like, you know!_ – and Adhlea had begun to smile.

Until –

Mabel hadn’t forgotten her. Not even when she’d stopped coming to the river after that. Adhlea had faded to the back of her mind, yes – but only because Mabel’s days were taken up by keeping the bar stocked and tithing to the lord and the unrest that occurred after the old lord’s death. The Dalish had been leaving – practically _en masse_ – as the new lord had been firing and killing his staff.

In fact, Mabel had been about to suggest they leave. Leave and maybe find their fortune or _something_ somewhere else. Dipper had been injured in a fight.

That stormy night, she’d been the one at the bar. It had been _quiet,_ for a place stocked with people.

Then Adhlea had entered.

Mabel hadn’t recognized her at first, not until she recognized that look of panic and red. The last time Mabel had seen Adhlea, Adhlea had shown her eyes. Red. Blood magic.

 _My clan,_ the Dalish elf had gasped, her face pinched and _scared._ A look, again, that Mabel recognized well.

And now. _Now,_ watching Adhlea weep over the body of her Keeper, Mabel felt like throwing up.

Deshanna had sent Adhlea with bread that the Dalish _needed._ Deshanna had helped her and Dipper live this long.

Mabel felt tears building in her eyes.

She had no right to cry, but… She felt so damn guilty. Deshanna had asked for her help, to stand with the Dalish.

And Mabel had refused. Had sent Deshanna to her death. Mabel had had the _guts_ to ignore the Keeper’s words, to ignore the guilt as Deshanna had _smiled and nodded in understanding._

Mabel burst into tears as Adhlea yelled at the lord’s son.

 _My fault, my fault,_ her heart chanted.

~:~

Adhlea saw the remains of her clan scattered around Skyhold, the family aravels standing next to tents and miniature camps. They were close to the forest on the grounds; yes, the path that led to the _actual_ hold was steps, but it was pretty damn beautiful below the castle. Her fellow Dalish watched her pass with Deshanna’s staff and her bloody clothes; Adhlea did not greet anyone, merely gave them a short nod as she went forth.

Mabel had insisted on coming with them, her brother and his templar lover following them, though Adhlea had tried to dissuade them. Mabel had even helped her dig the graves of her clansmen.

Bill had tried, but Adhlea had nearly set him on fire with a _look._

Thus…

“The Inquisitor is back!”

Adhlea did not quite know what she looked like, but she was certain that she looked like a deranged murderess, what with Deshanna’s blood and the dirt from digging graves stiffening the fabric of the otherwise lovely dress. She hadn’t had time to change before leaving.

People looked over to her with a smile as she passed on her way to Horsemaster Dennet before their smiles dropped and they hurried away.

Thunder rumbled above.

Adhlea slid off the horse in front of the gaping Senna, handed her the reins, and stalked off. People made way for her real quick.

Syven was next to her throne.

“Summon the clan,” she said, tersely to him.

His eyes widened as he felt her magic.

“Deshanna’s last gift,” she bit out.

His expression crumpled even more.

Once in her room, Adhlea stripped of her blood-stained, mud-soaked, dirt-encrusted clothes into comfortable, purely _Dalish_ leathers. This was necessary for what Deshanna had decreed.

Syven and her both, eh?

When Adhlea strode out from her chambers, she eyed the _shemlen_ standing around.

“Do you want us to leave?”

Solas’ quiet voice was unexpected. Adhlea shrugged.

“It’s about to become –“ her voice broke. “Become very Dalish in here.”

“I should think it would be an interesting learning experience,” Solas murmured, his eyes knowing. “Your Keeper gave you the Fade back.”

Adhlea nodded. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Inquisition!”

Silence in the hall fell.

“Members of my Dalish clan, Clan Lavellan, shall be approaching.” Many of them glanced at the exits. “If you wish to leave, I will not stop you. It is a Dalish ceremony.”

Leave, most of them did. As Syven rounded the entrance, Dalish elves entering, very few Inquisition members remained. Vivienne made a noise above her that Adhlea did not turn to.

Syven returned to her side as Clan Lavellan breathed and stared at her as she strode forward; Syven trailed behind her as she offered the staff of Deshanna to Ghimyean.

Ghimyean took it. A circle naturally formed as he silently beckoned them to follow.

“Have you come to fulfill the demands of the Keeper?” Ghimyean asked, his voice strong as he stopped, Enaste holding robes, Halier holding a different set.

“Yes,” Adhlea whispered as loud as Syven did.

“For the first time in our history,” Ghimyean said, turning to them, tears in his brown eyes, “two Keepers have been granted permission to use the last Keeper’s staff. You two are who she wanted to teach and mold.” He swallowed. “It is with this that I offer you two the Keeper’s staff. Fire and ice, sister and brother. Keeper Lavellan and Keeper Lavellan. We offer you our loyalty. Use us as you wish.”

Syven’s throat worked as Adhlea fought to keep the burning in her eyes from turning into tears. Together they grasped the staff; as a Keeper did, they broke it in half; one half going to Adhlea and the other to Syven. Adhlea got the bottom, Syven the top.

“We requested that Clan Aleriel bring two branches of the Dahl’amythal for you to carve your staves,” Hallen said from the side after a time of silence. “They, er, brought someone from Ferelden to do it.”

“I heard,” a _very_ familiar voice panted, “that the huge fucking archdemon I killed _isn’t_ dead.” Doshiel shoved her way through the remains of Clan Lavellan, two long stave branches showing over her shoulder. “And _then_ I get a message from Clan Aleriel, saying they need _me_ to cut two branches from the Tree of Mythal because they don’t plan on siding with you if everyone at the Arlathvhen gets pissed at you for fucking with _centuries of tradition.”_ Doshiel gave Adhlea a bleak smile. “ _Ir abelas,”_ the former Warden said, reaching out to the duo and brushing their cheeks. “I grieve with you.”

She then withdrew the staff-wood and shoved the two wood-pieces out. Adhlea picked the one in front of Syven, not having a particular design in mind for it.

“Here’s the robes,” Enaste said, both her and Halier shoving the two sets at them. “They’re meant for the Arlathvhen.” She brushed her tears away as Adhlea took them from her arms, Syven taking the ones Halier had been holding.

“Let us go celebrate our new Keeper!”

Adhlea tossed over her shoulder to that her advisors would know she’d be gone for most of the night; she intended to come back and sleep, not drink all night.


	74. Chapter 74

Solas sipped tea with a grimace. He detested tea.

He felt her power approaching, yet did not look up from his tome as he set his tea down. Alexius had allowed him to borrow one of the books Giselle had banned from the library; he could understand why. This book was about the use of blood magic, and while he did not intend to _use_ blood magic – ever – he was searching for the ancient ritual – or something _similar_ – that he could feel clinging to Adhlea. Most magic users could ignore it, but he could not.

Her power in itself was like a building explosion. It just kept building and building; he knew she needed to practice her magic or even fight something soon if she wanted to keep from turning into an abomination.

The door opened, heat curling in lazily before he heard her footsteps.

“Solas.” Her voice was quiet. “I heard you were the person to come to for dreamless potions?”

Solas looked up at her. “Not been sleeping well?” He almost did a double-take as he saw the cut that started from her forehead and just barely missed her right eye, continuing down over her nose and ending at her cheek.

She shook her head. “No. Especially not with my magic back.”

“It will take a moment to prepare,” he said, standing. “Tell me, would you like to practice tomorrow? It seems you might need an outlet.”

“Three months worth of one,” Thalia remarked, her voice dry.

“Ah, yes.” Solas turned to flash her a small smile as he sought the ingredients. “That _is_ quite too long for you not to practice. If you wish to wait here, I _do_ have a couch here.” Yeah, for some reason Josephine had said it was a ‘loveseat’ and meant for couples. Despite himself being an ancient elf from Arlathan and having met Mythal herself, Leliana invoked a terror that made him agree, out of honest fear that Leliana might just find a way to murder him. Leliana had been there when Josephine had asked him if he wanted one, for guests, glaring at him like he would commit a grievous sin if he said _no._ “I shall only be a moment.” She made a noise of agreement as he went to his rooms, just off the Rotunda; he was only gone a moment when a falter of her magic alerted him to trouble.

He rushed back into the room, just completed potion in his hand, to see her kneeling on the ground, clutching the spitting Anchor.

He set the potion on his desk before hurrying before her, kneeling and putting a hand over it.

“What did you do?” He kept any admonishment out of his voice, instead helping her by feeding the Anchor his magic.

“Something… _stupid,”_ she grunted honestly. “I poked it. It flared up.”

Her hand was hot to the touch. Solas cooled it down as much as he dared.

“Don’t poke at it while your mana is this high,” he chided gently.

“Got it now,” she said in a high voice. “Not – not going to let it happen again.”

When he deemed it enough, he released her hand before getting back up and grabbing the potion. He returned to her, crouching once more as she breathed against the loveseat.

“Here, drink this when –“ She downed it “- you get to your room.” He caught her as she fell asleep with a fleeting look of ‘fuck’ flashing across her face. Solas shook his head in slight amusement as he picked her up in a bridal carry, assuming a neutral look as he took her out of the Rotunda. People looked at him as he passed, eyeing the Inquisitor in his arms, before looking away and resuming conversation as though they did not see him. He entered her room with her in his arms, kicking the door shut. He ascended her steps, then set her gently on the bed which held no wrinkles.

Gently sliding his hands free, he glanced into her sleeping face. Hair had fallen into it. He tucked it back, accidentally touching her _vallaslin._

Her head moved into it, almost nuzzling it.

He withdrew his hand slowly, her brows furrowing before she relaxed once more. Solas forced himself to move away, leaving her silent chambers and shutting the door behind him with a small exhale.


	75. Chapter 75

Daylight found Adhlea and Solas practicing staff movements. Adhlea winced every time she hit her face with her staff. She rubbed her forehead.

“Let’s try attacking that plant,” Solas said, indicating a shitty little shrub about fifteen feet away. Adhlea smirked.

“That’ll be easy,” she said, sure that she could light it on fire.

“Try to light it on fire,” Solas suggested, amusement in his eyes.

Adhlea flicked her wrist, self-assured she could hit a stationary target.

It overshot it.

Solas cleared his throat.

Adhlea glared at it, summoning an immolation circle under it. She let a huge amount of mana loose before releasing the circle.

_How the FUCK did her immolation spell not fucking touch the damn shrub?_

“This is _not_ possible,” she said to herself.

“Try ice now,” Solas ordered. “Extinguish the fire.”

She stabbed her staff on the ground, ice stopping several feet away. It was a giant, misshapen formation of ice. Adhlea ground her teeth together as she closed her eyes before once more stabbing the ground. Her frustration soared higher as she saw Solas wave his hand and freeze around the bush.

“Lightning,” he ordered without turning. Adhlea twitched her staff, already knowing the outcome – yep. _Around the fucking shrub._ She smacked her face, hiding the wince she made. She was an idiot. There was still a cut on her face, after all.

“I cannot believe I’m reduced to a _child_ in my magic,” she groaned.

“It’s only with the ice,” Solas said after a moment. “At least with the fire you’ve managed the general vicinity. I believe you’re _forcing_ the ice to form, like the fire and lightning. More subtlety is needed with ice. Allow me to show you?”

Thinking he meant showing her with his staff, she straightened and nodded. Instead he set his staff down.

“Assume your stance,” he ordered briskly. Adhlea did, curiously watching as he walked behind her. His warm body was suddenly behind hers, his hands covering hers and yet still connected to her staff. Her heart was starting to rapidly beat. Which was stupid, because nothing like this had ever happened on the boat in the room they’d shared together. But… She didn’t think she’d been _this_ close to him. She was pressed against his chest, his jawbone necklace hitting her back. She was, it seemed, a little taller than before; she had to angle her head in order not to smack Solas’ mouth with the top of her head. He smelled like wood; like… juniper, she thought. _Juniper wood._

An odd observation, and one she had to put aside as he pushed magic through his hands to the staff.

“Keep your eyes on it,” Solas murmured in her ear. She shivered involuntarily at the feeling of his breath on her ear, her concentration thin.

Luckily, he said nothing else when he tapped the ground lightly.

“Let it collect and spread,” he whispered. “Guide it. Do not simply have the end result in mind. You try.”

If she thought he’d step away, she was dead wrong. He ceased his magic, but remained where he was standing.

~:~

Lace Harding stopped her fellow scout from walking forward, instead pushing the human back. The human stared for a moment, then giggled with Harding as they rushed back to Skyhold.

Magic shit aside, _that_ was something that looked _very_ intimate. The resident Fade expert was staring down at the Inquisitor as he guided her in the use of a magical staff.

Harding told the scout to do one thing.

“Inform Leliana that the Inquisitor is busy with magic and Solas,” she said with a giggle. Within a few minutes, the whole keep would know of the rumor; Harding was immediately approached by the resident dwarf who was good friends with the Inquisitor.

“Well?” he asked, looking greedy.

“It’s nothing, much.” Harding leaned forward. “He’s _guiding her,_ in the use of a staff,” Harding murmured.

Varric choked on his ale. “He’s – they’re –“ A stunned look flashed over his face. “Ah, Dahlia’s gonna be working overtime to convincing people the rumors are doused,” he snorted. “Still. This’ll make for some awesome shit.”

“Writing another book?” Harding asked, leaning forward. The dwarf nodded and chuckled.

“If we survive this shit, the Inquisitor has granted me permission to use her likeness in –“

“ _Varric, I can feel you lying!”_ The Seeker Pentaghast’s voice was heard from somewhere nearby.

“Okay, she hasn’t, but c’mon. It’s going to happen.”

~:~

Solas knew this was a mistake. He could feel the tension in her body, yet could not resist whispering in her ear. She followed his instructions to the letter; the newest layer of frost reached the shrub and no further. She giggled, the sound unsteady.

“Okay, I think I got it!” Her voice was high. He removed his hands, angling his head to look at her face. She looked red, possibly with exertion; she tilted her head upwards and looked him in the eyes before her eyes dropped; she forced them to meet his again.

“I’m very glad.” He offered her his usual patient smile, when he wanted nothing more to somehow distance himself from her.

He made ready to speak, to say what he wasn’t sure – a fumbling apology? When someone’s footsteps caught their attention. They were trying to slip past unnoticed, using rogue powder. Adhlea snapped her staff to the ground.

Ice shot across and collected around someone invisible. Curses spewed from the invisible person.

The dwarf in question was carrying lyrium.

“So, _you’re_ the one keeping our lyrium stores overstocked?” The Inquisitor marched over to him, setting her staff on her back. “Sorry, Solas. Looks like I have to lug this idiot into see Leliana.”

“You’re too _weak_ to carry me!” the dwarf announced. “And the lyrium.”

Solas wisely chose to stay quiet as Adhlea yanked the dwarf out of the ice, lifting him off of his feet.

“I never said I’d carry you,” she said crisply, yanking him behind her. The dwarf yelped.

~:~

Varric glared at the other dwarf. “Why would a Carta dwarf be restocking our lyrium stores for us?”

The dwarf glared back at Varric. “I’m not part of the Carta. My House has Carta _connections._ ”

“If you’re a liar and call yourself a storyteller, there’s not much difference in them,” Cassandra said, hand on her sword.

“Cassandra.” The Inquisitor looked at the dwarf, her expression blank. “Tell me why you’re helping.”

“Because. The Carta’s selling to Tevinter more than Orzammar does.” The dwarf folded, looking surly and annoyed.

“Orzammar selling to Tevinter isn’t bad,” the Inquisitor frowned. “They’ve done that, since… Fuck, since _before_ the Fall of Arlathan.”

“Red lyrium,” the dwarf blurted. “And not to all Tevinter. Some people called… Vena-something.”

“Venatori, more than likely,” Adhlea murmured to herself. Varric noted how distracted she looked. “Look, now that we know you’re stealing lyrium from the Carta it’s too risky for you to continue.”

The dwarf looked at her, skeptical. “You think the Carta’s spying?”

“I think everyone is spying,” Adhlea replied, evenly, flicking her gaze to the dwarf. “And the only ones I trust? I’m certainly not going to tell _you.”_ She paused, returning her attention to the War Table. “Like I said, it’s appreciated, but we _are_ trying to wean the templars we have off of it. Less of a risk to their health.”

“You still need it for magic,” the dwarf pressed.

“Only with the non-elemental apostates,” she replied, gazing at her map like it held the answers to life, the universe, and everything. Varric was certain he’d heard the answer was 42 somewhere, probably from Minaeve - that elf was _strange_. Eh. That didn’t matter right then. “Look, speak with one of the advisors later. I have matters to attend to. Varric, apologies for dragging you into this.”

Varric waved his hand. “One of the highlights of my day, Inquisitor.” He smirked at her knowingly as she glanced at him. A flush rose in her face.


	76. A New Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *giggles maniacally*
> 
> YESSSSS
> 
> THIS IS IT
> 
> THIS IS THE MOMENT WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR
> 
> THIS IS THE POST I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR 
> 
> (Game dialogue in this chap, folks.)

She walked through the Rotunda. “Solas.” He turned to glance up at her.

“How may I help you today?” he asked, looking slightly surprised to see her.

“I’ve told you a lot about myself, but I’ve heard little about you.” He stood as she stopped in front of his desk, walking to the side of it as though to get away from her. “It would be interesting to learn more, if you have the time?”

Amusement flickered over his face. “You continue to surprise me. Perhaps someplace a little more interesting than here, yes?”

She nodded. They walked out into Haven, stepping up the steps into the small village, snow dusting her hair. Haven was very quiet, but all she could focus on was Solas.

“Why here?” she wondered aloud.

“Haven is familiar to you. It will always be important to you,” he said, a small smile on his face.

“Haven’t we discussed that already?” Adhlea felt like the topic was vaguely familiar; on the way to Skyhold they’d spoken about it.

He turned to study her face for a moment. “Yes, but you probably did not know this.” They were in the Chantry, stepping into a familiar dungeon. “I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor. As you know, I did all I could to stabilize it.”

“I _do_ appreciate you saving my life,” Adhlea replied, staring at him in concern. “I’m glad _someone_ was watching over me.”

“You were a mystery,” Solas said, staring into the cell with an unidentifiable expression. “You still _are.”_ He turned to her, his eyes flicking towards the Anchor in her skin. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade for knowledge of this. And yet, I found no ways to remove it from you as Cassandra desired.”

“Which probably led to the threats of death,” Adhlea suggested, causing a flicker of a smile to pass on Solas’ lips.

“Indeed. She suspected duplicity and, as you well know, threatened to have me executed as an apostate.”

Adhlea felt a flash of anger. “I would not have allowed that,” she said, flatly.

Solas tilted his head. “You were in no position to argue.”

Adhlea made a face as he turned, reluctantly nodding.

They stepped out of the Chantry moments later, brisk, cool air filling the mountain town.

“You were never going to survive,” Solas explained as they walked. “How could you – a mortal, sent physically into the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted, driven away by the Breach.” He’d stopped after the ‘Fade’ part, turning to her and his eyes dark and pensive, hands clasped behind his back. Involuntarily, Adhlea’s eyes flicked to the Breach; a thing that glowed green and peeked into nothing but something – the Fade. A hole in the Veil. “Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra… Or she in me, for that matter. I was ready to flee.”

“Where would you go?” Adhlea wanted to know. “The Breach threatened all of us.”

Something in her statement made him smile for a moment before turning towards the mountain.

“Anywhere,” he said. “Anywhere before its effects could reach me. I never said it was a _good_ plan,” he admitted, turning. I told myself – one more attempt to seal the rifts.” He outstretched his arm towards the Breach as he spoke, in a manner similar to Adhlea’s. “I tried – and failed.” He lowered his hand. “No ordinary magic would affect them.” He remained with his back to Adhlea, talking above the wind. “I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” Adhlea was back there, where she’d first met Solas, her hand extended to the very first rift she’d closed. The Rift closed, and she was back at Haven. _That wasn’t natural._

Something _was_ off. But… _what?_

He turned to her, his expression clear.

“It seems _you_ hold the key to our salvation.” His expression was alight with wonder. “You had sealed it with a _gesture…_ And right then, I felt the whole world change.” There was an indescribable emotion in that last word as he stared at her.

Adhlea felt a dumb smile appearing on her lips. “ _Felt the whole world change?”_ she quipped back, taking a step towards him.

“It’s a figure of speech,” he said, staring at her and swallowing.

“Oh, I know,” she said, getting a bit closer to him. “I’m more interested in _‘felt’.”_

“You change… everything,” he said, not moving even as she moved forward once more.

“Sweet talker,” she whispered, keeping eye contact with him until he broke it, looking away.

Perhaps a spirit of desire had caught onto her, for she found herself emboldened to pull his head towards hers and kiss him as she made herself taller by standing on her toes. Perhaps not exactly a chaste kiss, but it wasn’t full-on kissing. Still, when he did not respond, she dropped back on her feet and turned, ready to go.

“No,” she heard, an arm grasped gently. She stopped, looking at him.

He pulled her to him, bending down and kissing her back. A breath as he pulled away, before he returned to kissing her.

And yes, there was tongue involved. He stole her breath for a long moment – before he pulled away. “No, we can’t.” He shook his head. “It’s not right. Not here.”

She frowned. “Here?” She looked around at Haven. But they – Her eyes widened. “We’re in the Fade!”

He gave her a smile. “This is a conversation best left for when you… _wake up.”_

Adhlea jolted up in her bed at Skyhold.

~:~

He had been rather shocked to see her in the Fade. Watching her, it had been… odd, to realize that her subconscious did not realize where she was.

The kiss, however… He’d suspected she’d try for it, tried his best not to let it happen. He’d given in.

She was remarkable, he was not lying. To see an elf, wide awake and trembling and obviously frightened even though she’d been interrogated still smile at him and snark her way up the mountain – he’d wondered if the Fade had drastically changed her. He doubted it, though.

She was, as strange as this comparison might have been, similar to a butterfly. A butterfly came from a caterpillar; a caterpillar who spun its own cocoon to endure agonizing pain as its cells destroyed itself and then reformed.

He could feel her, coming to speak with him. He picked up his tome, ready to start reading; she strode in as he read the same paragraph twice.

“How?” she breathed to him. “You – did you pull me into the Fade?”

“No.” He gave up and stood, setting the tome down and walking towards a bookshelf. “I believe you waltzed into _my_ consciousness. It seems I am no longer the only Fade-Walker here now.” He gave her a small smile.

“I’ve… never done that,” she said, her eyes wide. “On a _number_ of levels.”

Yes, he assumed she’d bring that up.

“That was… ill-advised of me. The kiss was… _impulsive._ I need time to think,” he said. Hurt flickered on her face before a sly smirk crossed her lips. He turned to take a book out.

“You say that,” she said, her voice dropping to a purr, “but _you’re_ the one who started with tongue.”

He nearly dropped the aged tome he was handling.

“I did _no_ such thing,” he said, firmly trying to deny that he actually _had._

“Oh?” an eyebrow raised on the small Inquisitor’s face, a smirk still playing on her face. “Does it not count if it’s _Fade tongue?”_

She was trying to tease him, he knew.

“Please excuse me, _da’len,”_ he said, drawing a line between himself and the Inquisitor. Any fraternizing had to be strictly friendly. “I must return to my studies.”

“Hmm.” She dropped the smile, dropped the flirting. “Does that mean I’ll need more of that potion, since I’m –“

“No,” he interrupted her, making her raise a brow. “Templars and mages tend to have wards in their dreams. I am fine with teaching you, if you would allow me.” He lifted the tome he was handling. “This book should give me some adequate answers.”

She looked at the book, the other brow joining the other.

“Yes. I see _exactly_ how _How to Kill a Dragon_ would help in that matter,” she uttered, rather dryly before turning on her heel and stalking out.

Solas closed his eyes after he saw the title. _Wrong book._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the fade kiss, ya'll. bite me if ya hate it. flame it if ya want, those'll be ignored. read and review and i hope you enjoyed it!


	77. Chapter 77

Adhlea’s eye twitched as she stalked down a corridor. A couple children – of the clan, she noted distractedly – ran down the hallway pressing their hands over their eyes.

“What’s going on?” she asked the children. The boy flushed.

“Keeper Lavellan is clinging to the Tevinter Mage, Keeper,” the girl whispered, looking red.

Adhlea’s eye twitched again, this time _not_ because of a certain apostate mage.

“Okay. Here’s what I want you to do,” she said, smiling in a sadistic manner. “I want you to go and tell your Mamae that I’m dealing with it, okay?”

The children nodded, suddenly grinning big.

“Keeper, are you gonna light his ass on fire?”

“First, don’t repeat that word in front of your mamae, she _won’t_ hesitate to flick your ears. Secondly. Yes.”

Adhlea flicked her hand, conjuring a fireball.

“I’m going to light his ass on _fire.”_

~:~

Dorian and Syven ran into the mess hall, the Keeper looking absolutely terrified as a fireball exploded on the wall, darting behind the biggest object currently in the room.

The Iron Bull looked up as Adhlea strode in, her eyes glowing with unholy heat as she flicked her wrist and threw another fireball at the open door. The fire harmlessly sputtered out, leaving only a scorch mark.

“Syven. Dorian.” Her eyes flicked over the tables, then rested on the Iron Bull. “You two better _keep your activities confined to the bedroom,_ or I will make _certain_ you will not have the ability to produce children, _should you ever want to.”_ A beat. “Am I _clear?”_

“Yes,” Falon muttered.

“Crystal, darling,” Dorian breathed.

“They got it,” the Iron Bull said, stretching. “Why’re you so mad, anyway?”

“They were _scarring children!”_ The Inquisitor scowled, her eyes returning to normal.

The Iron Bull relaxed as she scowled one last time before stalking out of the mess hall.

“You two wimps can come out now.”

“ _Wimps?”_ Falon popped up from behind him. “ _Wimps?_ Adhlea has _magic back! That,_ my good friend, is a reason to hide.”

Falon shuddered.

“Well, _amatus,_ should we take these activities behind closed doors?” Dorian pulled the redheaded elf away from the Iron Bull.

“Wait.” Falon was suddenly in the Iron Bull’s face. “Want to join us?”

“Oh, _Maker,”_ Dorian muttered, sounding horrified.

“I’m always up for sex,” the Qunari replied, a smirk on his face. “Sure you don’t want to be discreet about it?”

“I like making statements,” Falon replied with a wink. “And Dorian’s interested, too.” The human in question hit Falon, but didn’t deny it.

The Iron Bull grinned.


	78. Chapter 78

“We’re almost to the Emerald Graves!” Adhlea said, excitement evident.

“Why are you so happy?” Syven asked, irritated. “Why did you drag me with you?”

“Because,” Adhlea replied, sneaking a glance to Solas – who was _reading._ “There’s something I wanted you to see. It’s unusual, and even Enaste was surprised.”

That shot Syven’s brows up as he straightened from his slouch over his horse before wincing and resuming his slouch. Blackwall snorted.

“After we close a few rifts here, we’ll head directly to the Forbidden Oasis, correct, Inquisitor?” Blackwall wondered, sounding amused.

She’d explained her main reasoning to him and Cole beforehand, begging the spirit and the human not to tell either her brother or the other elf. Perhaps it _was_ childish, but she hoped Solas appreciated it. She’d been avoiding him for awhile, yes; but _this_ was an impossibility that only made sense.

“I explored this area in the Fade,” Solas said, looking around. “Of course, this area was filled with far more bodies due to it being a remnant of the Exalted March against the People.”

“Yes, which is why I would have stayed at Skyhold if I’d known you were bringing me _here,”_ Syven groaned.

Adhlea ducked under a branch, spotting the Inquisition camp and completely ignoring her brother.

“Feratherien,” she said as she dismounted and greeting her clansman, his _vallaslin_ of Elgar’nan prominent on his face. Her clansman nodded to her.

“It is as you asked, Keeper,” he said, his gaze flicking to the others. “I made certain the… Inquisition did not disturb it other than to affirm that it was still there.”

Adhlea beamed. “Solas, have you been to this part of the Emerald Graves before? Dreams or otherwise?”

Solas shook his head. “Most likely not. Echoes still remain here.”

She nodded before turning back to Feratherien. “I’m taking Solas and Syven in,” she informed him. “With Blackwall and Cole.”

“I’ll await your return,” Feratherien replied, his gaze distrustful as Blackwall and Solas passed.

Adhlea mounted her horse once more, flicking the reins and glancing at the map.

“Right. We’re almost there!” she beamed.

The inquisition camp was a ways away, but that was mostly because Feratherien didn’t want anyone to ransack it. Most likely. She didn’t know if there was anything _valuable_ there, so…

“I sense an ancient elvhen artifact,” Solas said. Adhlea smirked. It _had_ to be there –

She let out a giggle as she saw it for the first time.

“Syven, Solas.” She halted her horse and pointed towards the temple, overgrown and yet still obvious from the giant, six-eyed wolf statues on either side of it. “I now present a temple to the Dalish god of rebellion, _Fen’Harel.”_

“That’s fucking awesome,” Syven breathed, remaining where he was.

She glanced over to Solas. The elf looked completely thrown off.

“I thought there were no temples to that god?” Blackwall questioned. On the way here, she’d informed Blackwall – because Solas didn’t need to know more – and Cole (he sounded a _little_ interested…) about the numerous gods the Dalish worshipped.

Okay, they weren’t _numerous,_ but the Dalish had the important values covered.

“There’s _one,”_ Adhlea said, pointing to the temple. “A report found its way on my desk, and I found a reference in…” _In Keeper Deshanna’s journal she left us. Odd, though; why wouldn’t she tell anyone about it?_ “…in a book I have. Anyway, I asked Leliana to order it to remain untouched; I sent Fenatherien here with them to make sure they secured the area around it.”

“I thought you had found they weren’t gods,” Solas muttered, eyes still on the temple.

Adhlea nodded. “I have, but… I don’t really have any better way of saying what they were. Anyway.”

She dismounted once more, guiding her horse forward. The three others followed as she stepped up next to Syven.

“We should let Solas open it,” Syven said, eyeing the doors. “Maybe he’ll strip naked and start running around in – _ow!”_

Adhlea hit him.

“Solas, do you want to enter it?”

Solas jerked his head in an agreeing motion. He strode to the doors of the temple and pushed one open; he stepped in first.

Adhlea followed behind him, her eyes adjusting immediately to the gloom.

No skeletons in the temple. Little of anything, actually. Flowers lay at another statue’s feet, plates full of decayed and rotting fruit lay scattered around the room.

Solas flicked his wrists, Veilfire springing to life in torches.

“Why?” Syven asked, in the silence. Adhlea knelt down to eye some of the flowers.

“The Emerald Knights were rebelling against the Orlesian Chantry, who’d just declared an Exalted March on them,” Adhlea said in answer. “I believe they prayed to Fen’Harel that he’d help them with their crusade.”

“Whoever was living here,” Solas added, motioning towards the food and shoving open another door. Bright light flooded the room as it opened to a wide courtyard. “I… do not think that this was merely made by Emerald Knights.”

“Really?” Adhlea stood and walked to the back, following the apostate as he stepped into the courtyard. Vines covered walls, the ages past granting them a look into the past. And yet –

Adhlea saw _it._ Her jaw dropped as she spotted it first. “Um, Solas.”

“What?” Solas was picking an odd shard of something up, examining it; Adhlea pointed.

“Isn’t that an Eluvian?”

Solas’ head jerked to the mirror, as she thought it might. Inside the stone was a large, age-spotted mirror, glass intact, if not cracked. There was no way to remove it; not that Adhlea planned on doing so.

“If I am right,” Solas said after a moment, “this courtyard might be part of Arlathan. Perhaps the Emerald Knights built the temple to hide the Eluvian, rather to plead for help with their endeavor against the Chantry.”

“Or both,” countered Adhlea, reasonably. “The Emerald Knights built three temples to Mythal in the Emerald Graves that remain undisturbed. Why would they build a temple to Fen’Harel if they didn’t intend to ask for help? Plus, it’s clear that not many elves built it. Obviously, their opinion on who to build a temple to was… ill-received.” Adhlea walked into the middle of the courtyard, leaning to scrutinize the smaller wolf statue. She tilted her head. “Hey, Solas? Think you could help me with something really quick?”

Solas’ footsteps were heard. “Something wrong?”

“Something is inside the statue.” She brushed the head. Yep, it was there. “Can’t you see it? They put Dirthamen’s _vallaslin_ on the top of this wolf head.”

“ _That_ would make Fen’Harel pissed,” muttered Syven from a ways away.

“It was a way to inform other Dalish elves there was something inside of value,” Adhlea explained, glancing to Solas. “Our mother told us before she died. Not always something important or of value, but marking something with the symbol of a particular god was to tell the rest of the Dalish if it was safe. Mythal’s _vallaslin_ was ‘this is a safe place’; Elgar’nan was _do not go_ because he is known as the god of vengeance. Dirthamen’s was always ‘something hidden’ or ‘a hidden place’.” Adhlea had let this fact fade in the back of her memory until she’d read Deshanna’s journal. _Why_ her Keeper had kept a journal separate from the clan? Adhlea didn’t have all the answers, but she _was_ going to start keeping one. Might as well. Not like it’d be important or anything.

Keeper Deshanna had mentioned the Emerald Graves, Fen’Harel, _and_ had placed a small version of Dirthamen’s _vallaslin_ in the paragraph. It was important enough for her to merit a visit, surprise her brother and the elf who she was attracted to (at least she could admit _that_ much… and only _hopefully_ surprise Solas. Adhlea had no idea if he was _legitimately_ surprised.), and see why Deshanna had told nobody about this.

Solas and Syven both helped her gently move the wolf on its side. It took a good while, as none of the three expected it to be _that_ heavy.

“Falon’Din’s _bones_ ,” Syven whispered, clearly in shock.

Adhlea’s brows shot up as she saw the weapons, netted and lashed tightly together.

“Weapons,” she muttered. “Was it wrong of me to hope for books?”

“Well, this _was_ an outpost for Emerald Knights,” Solas said, reaching into the statue and gently moving some of the netted weaponry aside. “Should we ever figure out how to open an Eluvian, this might be good for the People once more.” He gently pulled out a battered, aged tome that surprisingly _hadn’t_ disintegrated. “Your hopes are not for nothing, at the very least.”

“You aren’t planning on starting _another_ war with the Chantry, are you?” Blackwall drawled from where he stood.

“No,” Adhlea chuckled as Solas gave her the book.

“Give us a hand, please,” Solas requested of Blackwall.

“Naw, these are elvhen weapons at their finest,” Syven added as they strained to put the statue back. “Not from Arlathan; most of those would be gone. They _are,_ however, old as fuck. If something ever happened and we _did_ get the Eluvians working again, the elves could have weapons as they might need them instead of being utterly and completely fucked.”

“Considering,” Blackwall grunted as they finally got the statue up, “that you are practically an impractical walking armory, Falon, you’re not likely to need more.”

Adhlea chuckled as she carefully opened the journal from where she sat. Schematics greeted her, loose pages that, while yellow…

“Preservation ward,” Solas said from next to her. “Armors of some kind.”

“ _Dalish,”_ Adhlea said, eyeing the designs. “Covers just enough to be practical _and_ there’s wards on each piece of armor.” She closed her eyes and shut the journal. “We don’t have an arcanist, though, so until Skyhold does…”

“They do not seem to have the objective of covering the skin,” Solas observed keenly.

“Well, if _you_ were fighting Chantry soldiers in the summer heat, in the _middle of the_ woods, _you_ wouldn’t want to wear heavy furs, would you?” Adhlea demanded, motioning to her Enchanter’s coat. “I’m only wearing _this_ because I still have no idea if it’s protection has been used or not. Also, it does look nice, even if it _is_ sweltering. And it’s _winter,”_ she complained.

“Well, _da…_ well, it _is_ the woods. If we were elsewhere, such as Emprise du Lion, I would assume it to be snowing,” Solas said, reasonably. Adhlea glanced at him, wondering why he’d changed what he was going to say before turning to watch Syven searching for more of Dirthamen’s marks on the scattered statuary.

“Let’s go back to the Inquisition camp,” Blackwall suggested, glancing at the sky as the light faded. “Light won’t stay forever.”

“I plan to rest here,” Solas said, setting his pack down. Adhlea ignored them as Syven murmured he was staying as well; Cole was unneeded, so the spirit followed Blackwall.

Adhlea was cleaning up the rotten food she found, tossing it into the forest for the animals – though she wouldn’t be surprised if they died from eating it. It was _literally_ hundreds of years old.

Spotting some prophet’s laurel, the Inquisitor stepped out of the temple’s relative safety and walked over to it, picking a bunch and sitting there, comfortable and hidden, making the bunch of flowers into a flower crown.

Dalish girls were always taught to _respect_ the Dread Wolf. Adhlea had met him – or someone who claimed to be him that saved her life and showed her to Skyhold – so he was real. That was fact.

What she _wasn’t_ entirely sure of was that the Dread Wolf might not like only _flower crowns_ from Dalish girls or bundles of flowers from Dalish boys.

Solas wasn’t in the temple when she stepped in, so she didn’t have to face his silent, judgmental stare as she placed the flower crown on the six-eyed wolf that was attached to the altar.

~:~

Solas watched her silently as she laid the flower crown on the likeness of the Dread Wolf, leaning against the wall in the gloom.

He _did_ remember her. Her cry for help in the middle of a forest near where he dreamed in the Fade had rocked him – a tiny Dalish elf, crying for someone to help her as her brightness dimmed, templars violating her in sickening ways.

He could do nothing, not until she was almost unconscious from their rough handling; he could not reach past the Veil long enough to wake, not quite yet. He’d sent her an image, a creature summoning, and shoved the power needed to her.

He’d waited as she’d summoned the wolves, then turned his back.

He did that whenever he’d expended some of his power helping the weak. She had never returned, and he’d never sought her out. He never thought he’d _meet her._

And in a moment, the world had changed. He’d put it out of his mind, never focusing on it as he stared at that tiny-looking Dalish elf who had soft features that was not weathered by harsh weathers in the Dalish camps; instead, she looked akin to a delicate china doll sold in Val Royeaux.

He remembered just how _stunned_ he was to realize such a delicate _child_ had traversed the Fade itself and lived. He remembered seeing her flit to-and-fro in Haven; keeping mostly to herself unless she needed to go places.

His opinion had been revised of her. She was hiding her strength; this was proven true as she’d sat astride that horse in front of the apostates, her face filled with such cold disdain he’d wondered for a moment if that was her true face. However, she’d spoken _for_ the mages; she made no concessions of the lord. Instead, she used her power cleverly.

If there was _one_ adjective he could say she was _not,_ it was _cruel._

She had to learn the Game for a husband she did not ask for, learn a new language and had to use masks in each situation she was in.

But she was never _deliberately_ cruel.

His conversation with her, to give her Skyhold, had made him cast his mind back. In the Fade, time was relative.

He remembered her. He remembered her scream, her cry for help so close he could not ignore it. She had begged for _anyone_ at that moment, and he had been closest.

And now, even unknowingly, she offered a gift to Fen’Harel; she knew he was no god, yet she still offered it.

Solas remained in the shadows as she stood from whatever silent vigil she’d been in, joining her brother outside.


	79. Chapter 79

They were recalled back to Skyhold not a day after they set out for the Forbidden Oasis, an emergency popping up that remained unspecified. It turned out it was Leliana, needing the Inquisitor back to discuss a War Room operation.

Cole did not stay with Blackwall, off-put by the man’s desire for the Inquisitor. He could hear the ancient one’s disgust and gut-churning self-hatred as Blackwall engaged the lady-born-at-dawn in philosophical debates, the one who’s faith was shaken in his beliefs listening to them about their _vallaslin._

Sometimes, Cole could hear her thoughts, too. Her focus was strong, her attention yet diverted if something she unconsciously deemed more important came up.

Cole often tried to help. But he could hear the ancient one bringing up a shared past and knew it was not his place. Because telling everyone and airing out whatever the ancient one thought would not help, would _not_ be compassionate, and Cole was bound to his duty. He was as bound as they were, Adhlea to her position and Solas to his guilt and self-hatred; he was bound to be unhelpful as he could not do a damn thing.

He could also feel Adhlea’s conflicting emotions, even as she pulled a laughing mask over her face and tried not to show what she wanted.

Cole liked the Inquisitor. She had no spirit of charisma attached to her, but her orders were followed without complaint; as teams divvied up several of the areas they needed to contain any demons; even Cullen was dispatched to the Hinterlands with Minaeve due to her request to see a dragon.

Cole watched and helped as best he could. And one night, when the ancient one’s sorrow got too sad, he stepped in.

The ancient one was sipping tea. Cole knew he disliked tea, yet still drank it. He remained unsatisfied. The tome he had set before him was on blood magic rituals, written in the ancient Tevinter language; this meant many Tevinters could read it, but not many could speak all of it. Cole could. It was because he was a spirit.

“Hello, Cole,” the ancient one smiles at him, a whisper of happiness infiltrating his mind. It’s quite similar to the happiness that curls around Adhlea’s mind when she sees Cole, or even similar to Varric’s. Varric he could not read so easily, but Varric was still so kind.

“She’s tired, exhausted,” Cole replied in answer, tilting his head. “But she won’t rest because Leliana needs the reports done. Some of them she can’t answer, but she doesn’t want to bother you.” Not quite exactly what the Inquisitor _needed,_ but she needed one who could help. Her brother who had let his fury consume both him and her was not needed. It was Solas. “Her shoulders ache and she’s scared of failing.”

Solas stared at him with an unfathomable look. “I will not go to her.”

 _She,_ Cole feels, is what _he_ needs. But he would not agree.

“Her hand aches, and pulls,” he said, turning around to hide his deception. He’s meant to _help,_ and they refuse to let him! He would _not_ let them escape his help. “She cannot sleep, anyway. _Might as well make use of this time answering reports. Leliana will be mad if I don’t get this done in a timely manner. Damn, my hand hurts.”_

He didn’t speak of the Anchor, then; her mind griped about her right hand hurting due to writing so much.

Cole stepped out as he heard Solas moving.

He had done what he could. No matter _if_ he could hear Solas’ question, he would kindly _not_ answer it. He stopped a scout on the way.

“ _Solas_ needs to give the Inquisitor a healing potion,” the spirit tells her.

Her eyes glaze over as he makes her forget _him_ , but remember his words.

He could feel Solas hesitating as scouts make excuses, approaching the door before knocking on it. The Inquisitor lights up with hope before reminding herself it might not be him.

Cole smiles.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *inwardly dies* i've been waiting for this longer than the Fade kiss...  
> Hope you enjoy~ 
> 
> *READ END NOTE PLEASE*

Adhlea hoped it was Solas, even as she called ‘come in’ to whoever was on the other side of the door. She resigned herself to it being Calia – _again_ – before soft footsteps met her ears.

“Apologies for disturbing you, Inquisitor.” Her heart thundered in her chest. “However, Cole said you required my help… And a healing tonic.”

“Oh.” Adhlea flushed in embarrassment. _Please tell me I was not broadcasting._ “I mean, I wasn’t… I’m not really in pain. The Anchor isn’t hurting me right now.” She tapped a couple reports. “And these, they’re meant for someone with Fade expertise. I was going to bring them down to you –“ _after the Winter Ball, probably_ “- soon.”

He set the tonic on the desk, pulling the reports to him. Adhlea felt uncomfortable as he flicked to the next, standing and walking to the balcony in a moment of much-needed privacy.

The Frostbacks stood proudly around Skyhold. Wyverns or dragons danced around in her line of sight, vanishing around one of the mountains. She let her breath mist in front of her face. It was always too cold up here.

She liked it. The cold air helped clear her mind.

She heard a creak and paid it no mind. Perhaps Solas was leaving.

“What were you like?” Solas’ voice made her jump, reflexively turning to look at him.

“What?” she asked.

“What were you like, before the Anchor?” he asked, joining her on the balcony and looking out at the mountains, before focusing entirely on her. “Do you think it has… affected you? Changed you? Has it affected your mind, your morals… your spirit?”

Adhlea frowned. “I… Don’t believe so? I think the only change I’ve gone through would be due to my experiences here.” And even when she’d lost her magic, she’d done her best not to take it out on others. Maybe she didn’t succeed, but…

“Ah.” Solas looked… Blank. He was showing her nothing.

“Why do you ask?” Adhlea wondered, sharply.

“You…” Here, he paused. “You show a wisdom I have not seen since…” he hesitated. “Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.” Adhlea sensed that he was lying about something, but couldn’t tell _what._ “You are not what I expected.”

“I don’t really think of myself as different from anyone, if that’s what you mean?” Adhlea frowned. “Despite my titles, I try not to abuse them but for the good of the Inquisition.”

“Perhaps you are not different from anyone in the form of your body, no.”

Adhlea did _not_ think. She did _not._ Those thoughts she was _not thinking_ would lead to very dangerous places (even though she could not help but wonder, _does that mean you were looking?_ ).

“You have shown subtlety in your actions, careful planning and wisdom – a wisdom that goes against anything I expected,” Solas informed her. “If the Dalish could raise someone like that, could I have been wrong about them?”

Adhlea nodded, firmly. “Yes.” Keeper Deshanna had been a better mother than – and Adhlea almost hated to admit it – Helana Sabrae had been before her death. Helana had not been _kind_ as Deshanna had been, but – _that didn’t matter right now._ “But what does this mean, Solas?”

Why did he suddenly question her about her morals? About if she’d changed?

“It means,” Solas said, his expression clearing, “I have not forgotten the kiss.”

 _Oh._ Adhlea’s heart sped up.

“Nor have I,” she admitted, walking closer to him. He remained where he was, watching her with an odd seriousness. She placed her hands behind her back as she stared up at him, waiting – he was _turning away. What the -?_ She reached out with one hand, grasping his arm gently. He stilled. “Don’t go, Solas.”

_Not now. Not when I’ve finally reached the point where I am admitting to myself I’m attracted to this strange elf with no connections to cities or alienages._

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he said, his words barely audible in the wind. Adhlea frowned minutely. “But losing you would…” He turned, his eyes dark as she let him go, sweeping her up and engaging her in a kiss, fully drawing her close and taking control of it. Adhlea melted into that embrace.

He then released her, keeping his head on hers, both of them breathing faster.

It was with a jolt that she also realized that her _vallaslin_ was sending soothing cool waves to the rest of her body.

“You… don’t mind?” she asked him, opening her eyes and looking up at him as she realized he was still there, touching her lyrium-branded _vallaslin._

“I do not,” he said, his eyes opening and meeting hers. “We would have to be careful, if… you desire this.”

“If you want this as well,” she reminded him, fierce. “There’s no way I would entangle you into this if you did not want it.”

“I know,” he smiled, fleeting. “But you are still married.”

“I am?” she asked… before remembering abruptly she _was._ He moved back, chuckles shaking his body in response to her question. “I forgot,” she said, looking utterly mortified.

“I can see,” he said, laughter dying to be replaced with a smile. “I must take those reports to Leliana.” He started to move away, then looked at her. “ _Ar lath ma, vhenan.”_

Adhlea turned a bright red even as he walked away. She, very obviously, watched him walk away, still frozen in shock and pleasure and happiness.

 _I never thought someone would call me that. Or SAY that to me,_ she thought as she waited until the door slammed shut before giggling to herself.


	81. Chapter 81

_“Isera. Did you break another staff?”_

_Fen’Harel’s amused voice made the girl cringe. Among some slaves, it was well-known he forced none to bear his vallaslin; some still did. Isera herself was treated better than most now that her own mother was her master, but –_

_But sometimes she remembered the nights Andruil would punish her for her inability to control her own fire, laughing cruelly as she threatened to turn her into a hare or some other sporting animal. It was thanks to Ghilan’nain that she’d been taken back to the mother she showed no hatred on the outside to. Sometimes Isera just wanted **out**._

_Fen’Harel had been her teacher for two decades. The ice runes he had carved on numerous ceremonial staves had been an embarrassment for her, though the number of times had lessoned since Sylaise was displeased with the rumors of one of her own slaves (even though Isera was her child) fucking another Evanuris. This time, however…_

_“No, hahren. My lady Sylaise dismissed me for the huntress is coming.” Isera turned to Fen’Harel. “You gave permission for me in your library, so I was headed there.”_

_“Good thing I am headed there, too,” the wolf smiled, showing teeth. “I must admit, your visits are getting less and less. You do know I enjoy your company.”_

_Isera was just **lucky** to favor Sylaise rather than Elgar’nan. Otherwise she’d be treated worse than the lowest animal, not held as she was in Sylaise’s court. A guard she may be, and a slave lower than the nobles who vied for the attention of the Evanuris, but still. If she favored Elgar’nan, Sylaise might have been inclined to give her to Dirthamen or, Fade forbid, Falon’Din._

_“Is it my company or my lack of magical restraint?” she muttered._

_“Your company. I do delight in your lack of fear,” the wolf smirked; this showed most of his teeth._

_“If you want to rip me to shreds, I would probably enjoy it,” she bit back at the wolf, not at all in the mood to do the friendly back-and-forth banter she usually enjoyed with the Dread Wolf. She’d only ever conversed with the wolf rather than the elf form of the Dread Wolf, of which she only saw at parties accompanying Sylaise. Those were **always** dangerous. They could only put the ice runes on the parts of the staff not to be seen, meaning it was usually after one of those terror-filled nights that her staff melted. Sylaise was usually short-tempered anyway, but on those nights Isera always thought she sounded more like Andruil than anyone else. “Apologies, my lord. I find myself on edge at her presence being so close to me.”_

_Fen’Harel shook his wolf head before the wolf-form vanished. The two-legged version of the Dread Wolf appeared. Isera blinked, the only sign of surprise._

_“Not surprised?” Fen’Harel asked, a smile playing on his lips._

_“Not particularly,” the fire elemental said, her voice dry. “I see you all the time at the –“ she stopped, pressing her lips together._

_His eyes, however, had a spark to it. “You see me?” he replied, arching a brow._

_“Yes,” she said shortly. “I always have to watch threats.” By threats she meant Andruil. There was possibly two other guards at the major parties for the Evanuris that could label as ‘on Isera’s level’ to stop her, both of them Mythal’s guards – Fravun and Eola, lightning elemental and ice elemental; Eola was one of Sylaise’s other children given to Mythal. Sylaise had a habit of having children just to give them to another Evanuris._

_Whispers around heard that Fen’Harel was an ice elemental himself, though seeing as Isera had seen the Dread Wolf do a rather impressive display of lightning magic, she had a feeling he simply used ice more often to throw others off track._

_Speaking of, the Dread Wolf smirked and pushed off the wall where he leaned. He started forward. Isera stepped back, falling behind him, as he was her better; unlike the wolf, which she’d had a habit of staying with, this was the form anyone could think wrongly of._

_(Not that they couldn’t think she was fucking a wolf, but… Even Falon’Din, who generally had a habit of fucking anything that looked elvhen, bestiality was something that Wasn’t Done. So, no. The rumors had been about the two-legged form of the Dread Wolf and Isera, **not** the wolf and Isera.)_

_“If you **must** walk so far behind me, at least talk while we do so,” Fen’Harel ordered._

_“What should I talk about?”_

Adhlea found herself no longer in Isera, a hand touching her shoulder.

“And that is why I should not have let my personal feelings get in the way of instructing you to Fade-Walk,” Solas muttered from next to her.

“I…” Adhlea could still feel Isera, almost like she had been the woman. “I was her.”

“You were deep within her, yes; attuned to her very thoughts as she breathed, almost like you were her.” She looked at Solas, eyes wide. “You are very lucky you did not get consumed by the memory.”

“Consumed?”

“You would be forever stuck in the moment,” Solas explained, walking further away and taking his hand from her shoulder. “You two seem to be kindred spirits.”

“She’s like your previous student,” Adhlea said, following them with one last glimpse. “Though, to be honest, I’m kind of disappointed I never got to see his face.” All Isera seemed to pay attention to was Fen’Harel’s mouth.

“Oh? Did she not view the Dread Wolf? One would think there would be more terror in her.”

“She was his student,” Adhlea replied as they walked, passing dreams that Adhlea did not see because she remained focused on Solas and Isera. “It was fear, but respectful. And the fear wasn’t really aimed at him. She was terrified of the huntress… She was terrified of Andruil for some reason.”

Solas glanced to her. “I see.” He did not seem as stunned as Adhlea.

“That memory must have been a memory from Arlathan,” she pressed. “How come it showed so visibly?”

Solas paused, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “Perhaps it is a memory that overshadows whatever echoes remain of other things,” Solas said, glancing at her. “Skyhold has been abandoned for many, many centuries.”

Adhlea agreed, then felt sad. “Does that mean when the Inquisition leaves, that memory is going to be gone?”

~:~

Solas’ brows raised at her tone. Adhlea’s eyes met his, looking sad.

“Would you be sad if it was?”

Adhlea nodded. “It’s…” she seemed to struggle. “It’s pure,” she said, looking confused. “There’s a sense of peace in that memory. It’s not… It’s not tainted with too much emotion.”

Solas hummed. “Then perhaps it will. But that is why Fade-Walkers watch memories and dreams. Something so simple as that… It will, one day, vanish. But perhaps it won’t for many years.”

Isera… She’d not been a lover, she’d been his student. His student, who in the next decade got Mythal’s vallaslin on her forehead. Then, she, Mythal, and Eola had been murdered. Isera had been the first, hoping her lady got to safety and using her ability to burn things with a mere touch to kill many of the slaves attempting to kill Mythal.

Fen’Harel had happened upon her dead body first, then the ice elemental Eola. Fravun alone had simply been wounded while Mythal’s blood had splattered the steps to the inner sanctum.

Isera had never been afraid of Fen’Harel; and Mythal seemed to know the duo were… friends, or as much as a slave and an Evanuris could be friends. Isera had, in her last days, been assigned as Fen’Harel’s temporary bodyguard; while they could not banter in public like they did in private, it was a better relationship than Isera had with her old masters.

Solas simply smiled at Adhlea. Adhlea, who had chosen to master fire as her weapon.

“If I might pry, what made you master fire?”

Adhlea tilted her head. “Well… I’m not really sure.” She flicked her wrist, Veilfire curling in her palm like it was nothing. “It… just seemed like a good idea, at the time. Keeper… Ah, hopefully she won’t mind. Keeper Deshanna suggested it to me when I tried lightning for the first time and exploded some of the ale we made for the approaching holiday.” Adhlea shuddered, presumably at the remembrance of the chiding she’d gotten. “Deshanna didn’t speak to me for a week after. I disliked it when that happened.”

“Why?” Solas wondered. Deshanna hadn’t seemed the sort to just let things slide.

“When she gets angry, she’s quiet.” Adhlea smiled half-heartedly. “When she did,” she added, frowning.

Solas hesitated. Then he smiled.

“Can I show you another memory? It is of something more recent. It should amaze you.”

“Sure.” Adhlea made an effort to smile. Solas focused briefly, walking down the halls of Fade-Skyhold before –

_“Are you certain, Ameridan? You do this and you’ll be the first Inquisitor.”_

Solas was rewarded. A human and two elves stood in the War Room, the two elves looking at a man that was clearly Orlesian emperor; Adhlea’s jaw dropped as the man with Dirthamen’s vallaslin nodded.

_“I am, Drakon. The dragons and maleficars threaten everyone.”_

_“We will, of course, disband as soon as we contain the threat,” the woman said, the mark of Andruil on her face. “Right, Ameridan?”_

_The other elf nodded. “Certainly, Telana. So?”_

_“I’ll have the Divine create a writ,” the emperor announced._

Solas released the memory.

“The first Inquisitor,” she said, stunned, “was a _mage_. And an _elf_.”

“I would warn against speaking of it until you have proof,” cautioned Solas.

She smiled. “I know.”


	82. Chapter 82

“You said you wanted to see a dragon,” Cullen whispered to Minaeve. Minaeve’s face was white, the woman unable to comprehend what was happening.

“I did not mean get up really close and nearly die,” Minaeve bit back harshly. The dragon screamed nearby.

“Aw, you guys are no fun.” Cullen jumped as Enaste stood, cracking her bones. “I’ve gotta do some studying. Worst comes to worst, you can study me later.”

The elf mage stepped out, casting a barrier on herself as she did so. Minaeve darted out, grabbed a stick, and began drawing on the ground.

“Less powerful than blood magic, but that’s forbidden,” the researcher grunted to Cullen. “I’m afraid it’s not the best, but it’ll have to do. They’ll distract the dragon, as the very least.”

She dropped the stick, the symbol lighting up green and humming.

“What… _is_ it you’re trying to do?” Cullen asked out loud.

“Summon anything that will help us,” she said, sweat appearing on her brow.

Nugs. Fucking _nugs_ started coming. Minaeve made a face before breaking the magic thing.

“Oops,” Minaeve muttered.

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?” Cullen muttered, poking his head out. The elf was sitting on a rock and watching the dragon, staff sitting next to her as she kept casting barriers. The dragon roared and blew flame at her.

“No,” Minaeve said, pressing against Cullen’s back. “Can’t templars nullify magic?”

“Minaeve, I’ve never fought a dragon before,” Cullen said, turning to her. “I highly doubt even _my_ templar abilities will work on it, even if I tried.” He peeked around, then drew back as a gout of flame crossed the area. “We’ll just have to wait and –“

“Cullen!” Minaeve clutched at him, her voice high-pitched. “Cullen, _drakonlings_ are coming!”

Cullen turned and saw.

“Minaeve, we might be fucked.”

~:~

It was odd, if he were completely honest, how Adhlea and him settled into a routine. Solas was not _unhappy_ by any means; he only regretted that he allowed himself this indulgence; and then when he saw her come in with a smile, her face alight – he found _himself_ smiling, unable to help it as she launched into chatter.

He answered her questions. They did not entirely revolve around the Fade; rather, Solas would probe – gently – into her personal affairs with the War Council.

It was one such moment, early in the afternoon, when she was explaining the newly returned Commander’s suggestion of cutting off her hair.

“He says it will just be in the way,” she explained. “And I know it’s kind of stupid, to worry about _hair_ about all things, now. But… Well.”

Solas reached over and took her hand, which was twisting around a lock of hair; she stilled, her eyes meeting his.

“I like your hair,” he admitted. He had honestly enjoyed braiding it, the one time in Haven. “If I might suggest a braid?”

“I can’t do a braid like my brother,” she confessed. “Or you.”

She flushed, briefly. Solas let her hand go and stood from his seat.

“Well, I guess I should go,” she said, turning away.

“Why?” Solas asked, realizing he _had_ just stood abruptly like – “ _Vhenan,_ forgive me. I didn’t realize – I was planning to braid your hair?”

His offer was clumsy, he could tell from a quirked smile.

“I would love for you to,” she said, chuckling a little. “If – if you want to. I mean, you’re not _obligated to.”_

“Adhlea.” His voice was a mere whisper. Her eyes jerked up to his, widening. “Adhlea, I would… enjoy doing that.”

“I don’t want to distract you,” she said, shaking her head. “Never mind, I –“

She took one step, turning her body away.

Solas wanted to let her go. It would be both kinder and easier, in the long run; but he acted upon instinct and stopped her with his own hand upon her arm.

It was a reversal, of sorts, of what happened on the balcony.

She turned back to him.

“I truly do not mind,” Solas confessed.

She bit her lip before nodding.

“I do not believe you’ve seen my quarters,” he said as he let her arm go.

“Only before you went in them,” she admitted. “And after you chose them. I… wanted to make sure they were spider-free.”

He was unable to help the small, amused smile on his face. Of all the things Adhlea disliked, spiders were ranked after templars. So, they were second on the list. It was hardly a secret after she’d run out of her room and refused to go back in until _someone_ (Calia) cleared the spiders out. Even though she was a remarkable mage and gifted rogue, _small spiders_ scared the woman.

Still, she followed him to his room.

“I think this is more homely than your cabin at Haven,” she said, looking mildly impressed.

“My position at Haven was… tenuous, at best.”

She nodded in acknowledgement.

“Shall we sit?”

He gestured towards the bed.

She perched on the edge. He slid behind her, pulling a comb from a shelf above the bed. He’d forgotten all about it, in the chaos as they’d fled Haven.

He started brushing it through her hair, casting silently around for subject matter.

“We have spoken… extensively… on how you are coping as the Inquisitor. I have not asked you yet how you are coping with the loss of your Keeper.”

Adhlea tensed under him. He set aside the comb and separated her hair, purposefully slowing his fingers so that she could talk. In the Fade, everything was easy, yes; however, Solas had been sensing something dark almost every time he’d touched her in the Fade.

(He was somehow even more careful in the Fade, he knew. Only touching her when strictly necessary.)

“I think I am coping fine, thank you.” Her voice was stiff.

“You are not,” he reprimanded gently. “You suffer, even if your suffering is close to your chest.”

She sighed. “Fine. You want to hear about how much I miss her? I miss her. A lot. But she is _dead._ I watched her die.”

Solas faltered.

“She gave her life to give me my magic back,” Adhlea said, a fine tremble shivering down her spine. “Using blood magic. _Exchanging her life for mine.”_ Adhlea’s breath caught in her throat. “I got to watch her die,” Adhlea repeated in a near-whisper. “But I am Dalish. I move forward.”

“Even if moving forward means you cannot mourn her?” Solas questioned.

“Yes.” Adhlea shrugged. “Such is the way of things. I have passed the time to be sad.”

_The Dalish must move on rather quickly. Their lifespan is but a blink in the eye of even me._

Solas did not speak. While the atmosphere had darkened, there was enough amiability between the two for the atmosphere to dissipate as he continued with her hair.


	83. Chapter 83

Adhlea expected issues to arrive, just not in the form of Deshanna’s mother. Deshanna’s mother, who had the same odd wisdom as Deshanna, though it tended to be on the cruel side of things.

Deshanna’s mother was the former Keeper – it was always strange to those around them that Deshanna had disavowed the revivalist nature of the other Dalish clans and stopped the practicing. Lenan Isanami Lavellan had changed her name completely when she became Keeper – to _child of vengeance, the hungry vengeful blade._ Syven was gone, dealing with an apostate mage and a Dalish mage issue.

Isanami barged into the War Room unhindered, the cold, indifferent brown lines of Elgar’nan on her face odd when someone compared them to Deshanna’s warm, deep green lines of Mythal. She came in with her face in its own fury as Adhlea jerked up, paling at Isanami’s appearance. Elaine jerked, landing on a report. Leliana glanced between the heaving elder and Adhlea while Josephine rushed in from behind her, Ser Barris taking the place of Cullen for the moment.

“You,” the elder rasped, glaring at her. “ _You dishonor the gods. There is only meant to be ONE Keeper!”_

She spoke in bits and pieces of Elvhen and Common. Not like they had a choice, seeing as few pieces of their history were recovered. Adhlea silently mourned the loss of an entire language right before she answered her former Keeper in kind. It had a bit of lilt to it, almost musical even interspersed with Common.

“ _I did not decide,”_ Adhlea said, flicking her eyes down. _“Keeper Deshanna chose, elder –“_

_“Deshanna should have chosen Enaste. Enaste is named for –“_

_“Enaste herself said she was not suited to the task,”_ Adhlea bit back. “ _Now, if you have a complaint, take it to Syven, please. I am rather busy.”_

 _“Do not attempt to belittle me, child! Deshanna was cursed. She never should have trusted the shemlen who murdered her,”_ sneered Isanami. Behind her, there were hunters guarding her. Adhlea knew they heard every word; they would tell the clans. _“She gave you, you misguided child, your magic back when she –“_

 _“I did not ask her,”_ Adhlea said, just barely meeting Isanami’s eyes. “ _I did not ask her to give me my magic back! Stop belittling the dead, Lenan. It is not my fault. I watched her die; she had no regrets. But I have one question for you, elder.”_ This had been niggling at her since Isanami had appeared. _“How did you leave with the caravan? The rest of the honored elders are dead; surely you, as Deshanna did, would gladly give your life for your own child.”_

She knew she’d caught Isanami as Isanami blanched at Adhlea’s insinuation. Isanami could have offered to stay; from what Adhlea had heard, Isanami had been one of the first out.

This was not an attack on Isanami’s honor, just a question. Deshanna had much more wisdom to give. Isanami had only a few years left. Clan Lavellan was nothing if not practical.

“ _If you have no argument, I am currently attempting to stop the Empress from starting an Exalted March on our people, again, because I am the Inquisitor of a Chantry-related organization full of Dalish elves, apostates, and ex-templars. Hunters, escort her out.”_

 _“You will regret this, mark my words,”_ Isanami growled as the hunters gently took her by the arms.

Adhlea turned from her, switching back to Common without difficulty. “And we’ll stop them here.” She jabbed her finger at the map, hoping they got the clue. “This should break their forces…” The door slammed closed and Adhlea let her sentence fade into obscurity. “I knew that she’d come in one day,” she groaned, wiping her face. “I just told her we were holding off an Exalted March,” she told her Inner Circle. “I’m going to have to divide my attention even more.”

“How do you speak Common so well?” Leliana sounded impressed. “You speak Elvhen so… naturally, even though both of yours were peppered with Common.”

Adhlea smirked a bit. “We mostly listen, and if we do not understand the Common word we make one up until the adults tell us differently. Also, I had a tutor in Common when I lived in the chateau Gaspard gifted me with.” Adhlea made a face. “She made me speak Common _only._ It was not pleasant. I _like_ my language, even if only scraps are left.”

She busied herself with the report in her hands. “I’ve got to go to Crestwood. There’s a sister there, asking for help. Undead are rising, demons appearing… The usual.” She grimaced. “I don’t think I’ll be back in time for Day of First Praise.” She tapped her finger and shook her head. “Dalish holiday,” she told them. “I’ve got to be back here for some of them, though,” she muttered. “Anyway. I’ll head out with Solas, Varric, and… Who else is here?”

“Cassandra is out with Fenris and Hawke,” reported Josephine, who had stayed after the issue with Isanami. “Depending on the outcome of Halamshiral – which has actually been slid back to the sixteenth of Drakonis – we can accurately respond to these letters.” Josephine waved her hand to the stack of unanswerable letters. “I’ve acquired the guest list, which is impressive.”

Adhlea felt a frission of dread. “Oh?” she asked, really not wanting to know.

“Representatives from Tevinter refused to even mention it to the Divine,” Leliana said with a smirk, which faded immediately. “There _will_ be spies, so I would advise taking –“

“I’m taking Varric, Solas, and… Fuck, I wanted to put as much shock value as I could in this,” Adhlea mused, a chilling smirk coming onto her face.

Elaine slammed a hand down. “Take Yenera. She’ll be _considered_ a Qunari.”

“Well.” Adhlea nodded. “What will I wear?”

“Oh, I asked Solas for his input.” Adhlea tilted her head. “I was told by Leliana,” Josephine shot the most poisonous look at Leliana, “that _my_ idea was too Antivan, so we’ll be wearing blue and red, similarly to the ball in Val Royeaux. Only this time, you’ll have to be back here when Guardian starts because we still need your measurements.” Adhlea nodded to her.

“I’ll do my best. I hope Crestwood isn’t wet.”

~:~

Syven was grateful that his clan was okay with the Inquisition requesting them to do such things. They were always happy – save Isanami, who scowled and attempted to tell everyone that Syven and Adhlea would lead them to utter destruction – to do what was asked.

Still, they’d need to be here for Guardian. Some of the teen elves were clamoring for their _vallaslin,_ and Syven had promised Adhlea’s presence. Having seen her off with her soft promises to be back, Solas offering him a nod, Syven had given them those assurances.

Now, though, in the night, he stepped into Skyhold with aching feet and his face hurting. He didn’t _like_ smiling fakely to his clan members. He was just in a _mood._ The Iron Bull was brooding over something and Dorian was less interested in sex, so Syven had to find something to do with himself that did not include sex.

He was a bad artist, but a decent writer. That was something that wasn’t opposite with his sister. They both wrote pretty damn well, but considering most of his sister’s time was spent writing, and that her dominant hand was currently crippled by the Anchor, he doubted she wanted to write.

He’d seen blank books like Deshanna’s around Solas’ stuff, so he made his way into the Rotunda and ignored Dorian’s loud voice above his head as he, Felix, and a _still present_ Alexius debated some Tevene magical theory.

The ice mage sifted through, knocking a book off. To anyone, the book was ordinary drawings, but Syven knew his sister when he saw her.

He picked up the book, rifling through it. It seemed to be, at first, the Breach, then Haven. There was an impersonality to it that struck him; and then there was her.

She looked perfect, in the first picture. Flawless. Syven knew his sister very well to know that she was not. And yet – in the second, a small nick on one side of her face he knew was from a knife practice when she was younger, a scar that had never faded. And Syven realized Solas had been cataloguing her flaws, as though rationalizing that she wasn’t perfect.

He felt like he was violating Solas’ privacy. He turned to the last page, then shut it. He didn’t want to know why Solas drew a wolf next to the fire mage’s legs.

 _He’s in love with my sister,_ Syven realized as he set the book back where he thought it had been.

He still nicked a journal he flicked through to make certain it was empty.

In his quarters, the co-Keeper of Clan Lavellan set his pen to the page and began scrawling.

~:~

_There’s a whisper in the wind, Arishok. You might not like the change that happens. I’d be very careful, and I’d also make damn sure you know who exactly you’re messing with._

_This isn’t some low-tier child. This is a thirty-year-old elf with enough power to rally even the Chantry against your people. This is a woman who has friends within each Court, amongst those are Vivienne of Montsimmard and the Warden herself, as well as the Champion._

_Now, you know me. I won’t hesitate to do what’s ordered. For the Qun, and all that. But I really, really, REALLY advise against attempting anything against the Inquisition._

_The Iron Bull_

~:~

_Empress,_

_The Inquisitor is a mage. I’m not certain just where you got your information, but it was faulty. The Inquisitor is a mage again._

_I don’t know how. I don’t know_ why. _And I don’t want to be sent to the Inquisition again. I’m sorry, but the belief they have in her, it’s – it’s nearly catching. I want to stay loyal, but even being in the same room it’s like all they talk about is how amazing she is and I don’t know what to do!_

_Knight_

~:~

_Alistair,_

_Everything’s fine, nobody’s been ordered dead yet and Thalia is pretty awesome. Nothing major’s happened, ‘less you hear the whispers of her and her love~ It’s hush-hush ‘cause Quizzy-tits has a rep she’s gotta maintain with the other spies._

_Haven’t seen that blighted Archdemon, but the year’s still early and I have a day to celebrate with my Dalish kinsmen. Give my love to Anora!_

_Kisses <3_

_Doshiel_

~:~

Adhlea enjoyed the feel of rain on her forehead, but disliked slogging through the rough terrain. As they entered Crestwood, she noted the weary faces of the people she passed. Tired, worn, and angry. Adhlea stopped her horse and glanced back at Cassandra.

“Mother Giselle suggested we speak with the sister, but shouldn’t we speak with the mayor first?” Adhlea asked her.

Cassandra nodded. “Perhaps he can secure us accommodations for the night as well,” the woman replied. “I do not enjoy rain.”

“Does anyone?” Sera shivered. “I hate rain. It’s not fun. None of this is fun. I hate undead. They’re not good.”

“Excuse me,” a voice said, calling out to Adhlea. “Are you, by any chance, members of the Inquisition?”

They were also hungry. Adhlea remembered what being hungry was like, when she was with the clan.

“Yes,” Adhlea said, dismounting. “What can I do to help?”

His smile was hopeful. Adhlea braced herself.

~:~

“ _Why_ are we killing as many animals as we can for these people? You don’t even know them!” Sera groused.

Adhlea killed a fennec with a flick of a wrist. She disliked using her magic to kill things, though she wasn’t above trapping it in ice, or stunning them with a few bolts of lightning.

“I thought –“ Adhlea stunned a goat before hurrying over to the dead fennec and throwing the knife into the goat’s skull, adding to her kill pile, “- Red Jennies helped the little people.”

“The little people who are suffering from such things as the reign of a cruel Empress, yeah. Not village-folk, they may be hungry but they ain’t starving.”

“They don’t have a good supply, either. Obviously, until that Rift out there is closed, there’s no way to know for certain that they’ll survive leaving Crestwood. They’ve survived for a while, yes, but there’s always a chance of dying,” Adhlea pointed out, reasonably. “And for _that_ matter, you didn’t want to go to Tevinter because, what, the _elves_ were enslaved?”

Sera glanced at her forehead. “There’s always the chance someone might’ve attempted to enslave me.”

“And I have been told the same thing very nearly happened to _me,”_ Adhlea said, gesturing to her forehead. Sera met her eyes before they skittered away. “Look, Sera, you have a good idea. But… But you need to think about more than just the people under the thumb of the Empress. Helping the ‘little people’ isn’t just helping the servant class, it’s helping _everyone_ less fortunate.” Adhlea knelt down. “Now, I’m going to be a wild Dalish elf and skin them, so if you don’t want to watch –“

Sera’s footsteps retreated before she finished her statement. Adhlea shrugged and started to skin the animals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter... I hesitated to put it out for a couple reasons. First of all, I wasn't going to put Isanami in this story at all, nor was I going to make Adhlea Keeper at all. But, well, shit happens.
> 
> Secondly, while I like the way Sera is portrayed in the game, I don't get the overall goal of the Red Jennies. So, there. 
> 
> If you have any questions, I'm on tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/skyerie . Ask me questions about the story, complain, etc.


	84. Chapter 84

Mayor Dedrick went to bed hungry, then woke up hungry. A knock woke him.

“Mayor!” Jana knocked at his door. “Mayor, we’ve got some meat! Some Inquisition folks brought it!”

The Mayor hung his head. _Oh, Jana._ The elvhen girl, an orphan of Old Crestwood, moved away. Still, the mayor hurried outside, needing to put on his own façade. His heart stopped as he recognized the elvhen girl with blue lyrium markings – he recognized her through the Wardens’ tales. She was stirring the pot above the communal fire, laughingly telling a tale of a dragon and how a companion had to run away because they were _not_ ready for that kind of combat.

The tale had the village in tears, they were laughing so hard. It wasn’t a tale of cowardice, just _smart retreating._

“So he arrives back at the castle with his friends and he’s _still smoldering,_ even though it’d been _weeks_ from Ferelden to our base,” the woman laughed. “Apparently they’d encountered drakonlings _with_ the dragon. How he managed to _not_ burn himself is beyond me! I mean, yes, a rib or two was broken but he was _still moving!_ Strongest templars I’ve ever met.” The woman leaned forward conspiritorally. “If I wasn’t taken, I’d snatch him up myself.”

That brought weak giggles from the hungry folk.

“Alright, here’s Mamae’s finest soup! Gather ‘round!”

Everyone gathered around with bowls. The Inquisitor dipped the bowls into the soup, then handed it back, not flinching as the scalding hot soup hit her hand.

The mayor had some soup shoved into his hands. He met the eyes of the Inquisitor, who offered him a smile.

~:~

“Caer Bronach, huh?” Adhlea poured over the map. “Hmm, if we enter here, we could sneak up –“

“Go to _bed already!”_ Sera shouted from her tent. Adhlea blinked, looking up. Full night had descended, Blackwall and Sera already retiring. Solas was still up, watching her with a book in his lap. Adhlea had a feeling he was probably drawing something, as she did happen upon him drawing things many times in Skyhold.

“Sorry, am I talking too much?” She lowered her voice as the man shut whatever he was reading or drawing, shaking his head.

“I do not tend to sleep much in areas such as this.” He sat next to her. “And since you became a dreamer, you do not want to risk drawing demonic attention, especially with the Fade Rift nearby. One of the many things I admire about you.”

Adhlea tilted her head, letting the map fold into itself. “And what else do you _admire_ about me?” she dared ask, looking straight into his eyes.

“Your indomitable focus,” he said, serious. “I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight of such would be… _fascinating.”_

Adhlea swallowed. “Oh?” she asked, her voice faltering a little.

He offered her a quick smile just as Sera’s voice floated out.

“Oi, if you two are gonna bump uglies, will you _please_ let the rest of us _sleep?”_

Adhlea jerked her gaze off of Solas, face aflame at Sera’s words. A nearby Inquisition scout coughed, a cough that sounded rather suspiciously like a snigger.

Adhlea retreated into her tent, deciding to attempt to make something out of rocks. She worked on it until morning, never hearing Solas move from his spot for the duration of the night.

~:~

The bandits were easily taken care of. Adhlea had Sera unlock the tavern door, only to see two humans fucking in it – _Mythal have mercy,_ Adhlea clapped a hand over her eyes. Just because she wasn’t a virgin doesn’t mean she _wanted_ to see human dangly bits everywhere. Sera just snickered.

“Sorry! We didn’t think anyone was in here!”

“And you felt the need to… _copulate_ inside an _abandoned_ tavern?” Solas said, acidly while moving in front of Adhlea. Adhlea peeked between her fingers, seeing the back of Solas’ neck; she saw his necklace rope was old. Old as fuck. It must’ve been kept together by some kind of magic.

“Sorry!” the man squeaked, shuffling indicating that they were probably dressing. Solas moved away from Adhlea, who nevertheless looked _anywhere_ but the couple.

“Can you guys go elsewhere?” she asked, after they started to just stand there. “We’re in a bit of a time rush, here.”

“Right! Yeah!”

They moved forward. Adhlea skittered to the side, wrinkling her nose.

“A virgin, then?” Sera jibed.

Adhlea shook her head, walking forth and avoiding the blanket. “Hardly,” she brushed Sera off. “I just… haven’t had sex in a while.”

“I know someone in _present_ company would like to have sex with ya!” Sera pestered.

Adhlea arched a brow, pointedly not looking at either Blackwall or Solas.

“Sorry, Sera. You’re not my type,” she said, blandly.

Blackwall chortled as Adhlea walked to the door.

“I was talkin’ about Mr. Elfy Elf over there,” Sera said, striding forward and picking the lock. “Or Blackwall could scratch your itch.”

“I do not,” Adhlea said, forcing any heat flaring into her face to die, “have an _itch,_ Sera.”

“Please drop it,” Blackwall muttered.

“Yes, please, Sera.” If Sera kept talking, Adhlea might actually kill her. Adhlea was well-used to sleepless nights, but she’d be damned if she was going to let _Sera_ ruin her already shite day.

The door swung open.

“Do you need help with the winch?” Sera sniggered. “I’m sure –“

Adhlea cut her off by pushing with all of her, as her brother said, _Qunari-like strength._ Underneath her hands, the winch easily spun.

“ _Fenedhis lasa,_ Sera,” she told the girl with a last shove. Sera blinked. Solas arched a brow.

“That was an insult, wasn’t it?”

 _It means ‘go suck a wolf’s cock’, of course it’s an insult but I’m certainly not telling_ you. “No, Sera. It was Elvhen for _thanks for nothing,”_ Adhlea snarked. A rumbling started.

“That should take all night,” Solas murmured. “We should wait here.”

Adhlea nodded. “There’s some ale around here. It _is_ a tavern.”

“We planning on spending the night here? Sweet!”

“Yeah, one more night with you,” Adhlea muttered with sarcasm, following Sera to the tavern part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I don't hate Sera at all. I just... it's a struggle to portray her as the game does. I'm not all that used to writing Sera. Hope you can understand that!
> 
> I've got a discord~ here's the invite link: https://discord.gg/p7CxwCB   
> Or, if you don't have a discord, there's always tumblr where you can find me~: https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/skyerie
> 
> Either or I'll be on occasionally, though I'm more on tumblr than discord. Message me to complain or whatever, really, I'm not picky.


	85. Chapter 85

Old Crestwood was sandy and filled with seaweed and skeletons. Oh, and spirits.

“I would advise caution,” Solas muttered. “One wrong act can set them off.” Adhlea nodded, carefully walking around the spirits – and then one was shouting.

“ _Move,_ I say!” The spirit glared at seemingly nothing; Adhlea swallowed and cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

Solas muttered something she did not hear. The spirit turned, its form changing as it did. If they were in the Fade, Adhlea had a feeling she’d be able to tell what it looked like, but here… She could not.

“Hello!” Adhlea said, cheerfully. “Why are you here?”

“I tell the sky to part, and it does nothing,” the spirit informed her, sounding feminine and sharp. “I tell the rocks to move and they do not!”

“What… sort of spirit are you?”

Even Deshanna had warned against spirits, but Cole was nice. Adhlea had long since decided – she would treat spirits with the kindness she would treat others.

“I am a spirit of Command,” the spirit said.

“Or pomposity,” Solas muttered audibly.

Adhlea ignored him for the moment. “Why are you here?” she repeated.

“There is a rage demon who wanders,” the spirit said, in a hushed voice. “I will not leave until something heeds my command.”

“Then,” Adhlea said, an idea blooming in her head, “I pledge myself to your service, Command. I will do as you say. Tell me what it is you would have me do.”

Solas sighed.

“The rage demon. I order you to destroy it!”

Adhlea nodded. “As you say.” She moved around Command and started down the hill towards the cave she saw. Assuming it led down into the rift, she’d be able to kill the rage demon and stop the spirit from turning into a demon.

“You do realize you might have entrapped yourself, Inquisitor. Most spirits are not like Cole,” Solas cautioned.

“I’m not an idiot, Solas.” Adhlea glanced at him briefly, offering him a smile for her sharp words. “I know trusting spirits unlike Cole is unwise. However, if I can stop the spirit from turning into a demon? I’ll take what I can do and see if the spirit leaves.”

“I… had not thought of that,” the other admitted. “But if it doesn’t?”

“Then I made a mistake,” Adhlea replied, continuing into the cave. “Surely even _I_ can make mistakes, Solas.” She looked back at him, arching a brow. “I’m not perfect.”

~:~

Rage demon slaughtered, rift taken care of, Adhlea and her allies marched up back to the spirit of Command.

“I have returned with news,” Adhlea announced to the spirit, no longer seeing the rift from afar. “I have followed your order and the rage demon is gone.”

“Thank you,” the spirit murmured, slowly fading away. Adhlea went to move away, but another wraith appeared in front of her. Gasping, the smaller elf jerked back; the spirit faded before it could speak.

“Excuse me!”

The Chantry sister, Adhlea had forgotten her name, rushed down.

“The mayor’s gone!” the woman shrieked. Adhlea winced at her tone. “He’s left Crestwood!”

Adhlea refused to groan. _Back to Skyhold it was._ The elf sighed.

~:~

Adhlea dismounted, handing her reins to Senna before traipsing up the steps, bone-tired. Minaeve rushed past her with a giggle, Cullen striding behind her with a faint flush on his face.

“That was a waste of a trip,” she announced to Elaine as she entered the keep’s hall. Elaine rolled her eyes. “What? Undead shits, a revelation that the town’s mayor was responsible for drowning half of Crestwood during the last Blight… There was nothing really interesting about Crestwood!”

“Damn,” Elaine breathed. “The mayor really did that?”

Adhlea nodded, closing her eyes. “Does Leliana need me today?”

“No. We weren’t expecting you back for another week,” Elaine admitted. “Take some time to relax, because when the seamstress comes you’ll be back in full swing of things.” She grimaced, before she held up a hand. “Your brother left with the Iron Bull; he got a letter from his Qunari superiors. Also, there’s been an issue concerning Templar Jenkins and Calia.” Elaine tapped her chin. “We’ve sorted out Jenkins, but the problem is with the servants. They’re refusing to serve the templars _and_ pretty much everyone else.”

Adhlea rubbed her _vallaslin._ “Tell the heads of each station to come to my quarters at dusk. I’m going to go rest before then, maybe take a health potion.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll figure out something to do when they come in.”

~:~

Adhlea did not sleep easily, her dreams uneasy for some reason. Solas had advised against Fade-Walking, going so far as to show her the wards to prevent her from leaving her own dreams. She felt hot in her own skin; when she woke, she stayed on the balcony until the servants rapped at her door.

She called for them to come in; from the head laundress to the head cook, all servants looked mutinous and slightly terrified as she surveyed them.

“Why will you not serve the templars?” she asked, her voice weary and tired, turning to her desk and leaning on it.

Silence.

Adhlea turned her head. “Look, I cannot help you if you won’t answer. Why?”

The head laundress nudged Calia forward.

Calia cleared her throat. “Um. Miss. I’m not a mage.”

Adhlea frowned. “No, you’re not. What does –“

Calia moved, taking one of Adhlea’s staves and flicking it in a very familiar manner.

“Ah.” Adhlea watched as lighting set her wardrobe on fire. “That’s…” Her vision blurred. “That’s new. I’m sorry, I’m not feeling –“ She closed her eyes, shaking her head in an effort to clear it. “Okay. So you’re a mage now. Is that the only reason?”

“It’s happenin’ all over Skyhold, miss,” the head laundress muttered. “So far, none of the alienages in Denerim have been experiencin’ it. Seems to be limited here. All elves, none of them humans.”

“Right.” Adhlea removed her hand, her vision clearing. She remained at her desk, not entirely sure she could move without effort. Calia replaced the staff. “I’ll speak with my brother. Switch up some of the elves’ duties, make certain the pay is the same. Have the mages serve the human mages, the non-mages serving the templars. If there’s an issue concerning pay or even training, alert me and I’ll respond as quickly as I can.” She looked at the head cook, who nodded. “I’ll send my best to discreetly help your mages. Otherwise, keep them separate.” She eyed the two humans, who looked put out. “As for you two, you _will not,_ under _any_ circumstances, tell Leliana about this. I’ll take care of that.”

As soon as she stopped feeling sick.

“If that is all, you may go back to your regular duties.”

Everyone filed out, leaving Adhlea alone at last. The young elf took one step forward and collapsed, fire in her veins.


	86. Chapter 86

Seeing the Inquisitor sprawled out on the floor, pale and breathing unsteadily, Leliana had immediately deduced it was poison and sent for Solas, Sera, and Blackwall. Solas because he could treat her while Leliana interrogated them, and the other two to establish whether or not they were innocent.

“It is not the Anchor,” Solas reported at last, “and not an effective poison. Whomever did it was quite possibly a skilled archer or someone close by; few, however, have gotten close.” Solas’ eyes flicked to the side. Leliana made a mental note. Solas and the Inquisitor _were_ together. At least they were discreet about it. “If left unchecked, it might have killed her.” Leliana threw a glare at Sera, who looked mildly frightened; Blackwall simply scowled.

“If it was a mere scratch, she need not have been close to many,” Leliana said honestly, joining Solas near him. “Added to that, a half-dozen people could have scratched her while she walked in.”

“A rogue, as well,” Blackwall added. “If you take into account her attacker may have been elvhen.”

Solas turned to glare at Blackwall while Leliana pursued this train of thought with detached numbness.

“Why,” Solas demanded, the normally even-tempered apostate elf’s eyes flashing, “would an _elf_ attack her? She advocates rather strongly for them, uses her position to _their_ benefit.”

“Her clan,” Leliana said at last. “Before you left, she was approached by someone named Isanami. I did not entirely understand, for both of them spoke the Dalish way – Common with, I assume, Elvhen; perhaps the other way around – but, anyway, I could tell that Isanami was not pleased by her choices.”

Solas’ expression darkened before smoothing so fast Leliana shuddered inside. There was something rather dark about the apostate elf, now; something that made the room seem colder.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Solas said, his voice cold and as smooth as ever.

~:~

Enaste watched the elven apostate approach. She nudged Ghimyean as he headed straight for the former Keeper’s tent; Isanami stepped out of her tent, her eyes bright – those bright eyes turned suddenly wary as the bald apostate stepped and greeted her. Ghimyean leaned back on his elbows, a smirk lazing on his lips.

“Think she realizes who she’s talking to?” Syghimye asked, the huntress’ eyes sharp. Out of all the clan, only about seven or eight were mages; neither Ghimyean and Syghimye were. They just weren’t _stupid._ Enaste had told them soon after meeting him. They, too had been wary; Enaste had told them to tell the clan that the apostate didn’t mean to lead them astray. Enaste hadn’t told all the clan – Hallen, Halier, Syghimye, and Ghimyean.

Right now, Isanami was giving him the ‘ward all evil’ sign.

“Yep,” Ghimyean said, crossing his legs. “I wouldn’t believe it if you didn’t share your mother’s weird, creepy senses.” Enaste didn’t remove her eyes from the verbal battle between Isanami, who was starting to look a bit terrified, and the bald apostate whose face she did not see; still, she accurately flicked her mother’s other ward on the tip of his ear. “Ow! Enaste –“

“You insulted me, I took recompense.” Enaste lounged against the log lazily. “If you want me to shapeshift, you ass, I’ll make damn sure the last thing you see is my teeth.”

“No,” Ghimyean said, rather quickly. “No, thank you.”

Syghimye curled her lip. “You are pathetic,” she said, openly scorning her fellow hunter.

“I’m _smart,”_ Ghimyean replied, rubbing his ear and balancing on one elbow.

“Seriously, don’t insult Mamae’s senses,” Enaste said, slanting a quick, lazy gaze at him. “Adhlea’s got him on a tight leash.”

“I don’t think _he_ can be leashed,” Ghimyean muttered.

“He’s the Creators-damned _Dread Wolf,_ of course he can’t,” Syghimye hissed, looking nervous. “Do you think Adhlea should –“

“She’s doing an admirable job at keeping his attention,” Enaste said, “ _without_ knowing. If it gets to the point where she’s ready to fuck him, _then_ we’ll tell her.” Enaste watched with a smirk as her grandmother retreated, looking mutinous; Enaste heaved herself up and approached the Wolf and her grandmother. “Everything all right?” she asked, staring at her grandmother intently.

The Dread Wolf turned to her. “This crone set one among your number against Keeper Thalia.”

“Did she?” Enaste asked, cocking her head. “Did you, Grandmother?”

Isanami looked pale, yet she set her jaw.

“I would do what’s _right,”_ the woman snapped, finally. “The _child_ cavorts with Fen’Harel.” Isanami’s eyes flicked to Solas. “Do what’s right by Mythal, child, and kill her murderer.”

“Mythal _was_ murdered,” Enaste hummed. “But by the likes, not of Fen’Harel, but of Falon’Din.” She gestured to her own face. “You mislead our clan again, Grandmother, and I will ask Adhlea and Syven to banish you. You are no longer Keeper. Adhlea is. Adhlea is doing her job, and she will _continue_ to do so.” Enaste straightened, doing what her mother did and looking her grandmother straight in the eyes, keeping the straightest face she could. “And Adhlea is seeing a _city elf with Fade knowledge,_ Grandmother. What they decide to do behind bedroom doors is clearly between the two _consenting_ adults. Try to kill her again and you’ll see _exactly_ what I’ve been learning in my shapeshifting studies, _Grandmother._ ”

Enaste’s message was clear. _Back off before you force my hand or my teeth._

“Now, we’ll bother you no further. Adhlea _will_ be alerted of this,” Enaste continued, “and I will inform Syghimye and Ghimyean to tell the _rest of the clan.”_

“Oh, we’ve been informed.”

Enaste nearly jumped, but refrained. Syghimye and Ghimyean both stood behind her, identically cold smirks on their faces with Andruil’s markings.

“Now, Solas. I have some Fade stuff I want to talk with you about.” Enaste didn’t touch him. She hated touching people. “Intricate shit.” She jerked her head away from the aravel of the former Keeper. Solas followed her, his footsteps quiet. Twenty feet away, a healthy enough distance, Enaste stopped. “Now, Dread Wolf, I won’t say a word.” Enaste turned to Fen’Harel, eyes hard. “But if you lay with her without telling her the truth, I will bring the entire might of Clan Lavellan upon your head. Even if we fail, we _will_ hurt you.” Enaste turned her fiercest look upon him. “All but the Keepers have been told of your identity.”

Yeah, Enaste was lying, but to keep the clan safe…

Solas’ face stiffened into a mask of cold; Enaste waved her hand.

“’Tis only to follow the words of my mother. We are watching, Dread Wolf.”

He inclined his head.

Enaste brushed past him.

“Why Falon’Din?” his voice was soft. “If you knew he helped kill Mythal?”

Enaste stilled, then turned to him.

“I value life,” she said at length. “It is a reminder and a punishment I must bear.”

She walked back to the aravel, her heart heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear, Enaste didn't actually tell the whole clan. Just Syghimye and Ghimyean, and the other two Deshanna kinda-adopted. Not Adhlea and Syven.


	87. Chapter 87

The Iron Bull never actually expected the Ariqun herself to appear with an agent of the Arishok. The Viddasala and the Arishok’s agent – known as such because he was _clearly_ a front-line soldier – stood together on a hill overlooking the Hinterlands.

A nondescript meeting place for them. Syven stuck to the trees; not even the Iron Bull heard him past the initial slide into the trees that the Dalish elf had made.

“The Arishok was most concerned about your letter,” the Viddasala said, her eyes glaring at the Iron Bull. “He did not ask for the leader’s specifications, he asked for the _Inquisition’s_ specifications.”

The Iron Bull inwardly groaned.

“Yes, well. When you spend too much time with the Inquisitor herself, it’s easy to realize she’s carrying the damn thing together,” the Iron Bull replied, tone easy.

“Then, answer this: do you believe that the Inquisitor can take down the magister that threatens her people?”

“Yes, I do,” the Iron Bull said. “She is _saarebas._ With magic _or_ without.”

The Viddasala arched a brow. “Are you _certain?”_

“I am,” the Iron Bull replied, steadily.

“A thirty-year-old elf, a _saarebas._ ” Bull could see exactly where she was stunned. It was usually only the Adaar that got assigned such a name with the reverence it deserved; the other mages in the Qun just got sneered at with the accompaniment of that term. “A few spies, planted elsewhere in the Inquisition said that Hawke had arrived. Are you certain _she_ is not the _saarebas_?”

“Damned certain,” Bull swore. Well, _lied._ Half the mages in the Inquisition were fucking _amazing._ Allana, with her penchant for explosions; Elaine and Hawke, their weird crystal-swords; Dorian, his necromancy (and yes, Bull had made Dorian swear not to resurrect _his_ corpse. It was hot watching Dorian resurrect the dead, but – also creepy. Because Dorian used fire to control his puppets, the skeletons were _always walking on fire_ and that was really an image Bull didn’t need); Syven, his ice in the midst of passion (and that was _fun,_ actually; sleeping with Dorian had been hot but with Dorian _and_ Syven he’d been witness to a weird ice-and-fire mix that just _fit_ somehow) and the Inquisitor herself. He could name all the mages he found himself surrounded by (and only leave one mage off the list [because… well. It was _Vivienne,_ so…]) as _saarebas._ Oh, yeah. Just let him do that and condemn them all to death.

“Hmm.” The Viddasala stared at him, unreadable. “Your presence will be requested soon. I expect you to answer immediately; _and_ we expect the Inquisitor’s presence.”

The Viddasala beckoned the Arishok’s agent. As soon as they were out of earshot, Bull heard a rustle, then heard a sigh.

“You know,” Syven said, conversationally, “my sister and I are twenty-three, right?”

Bull whipped his head around to stare at the redheaded elf with a wide eye.

The elf just smirked and vanished before Bull heard him shout behind him. “Hurry up, we have to be back before my sis!”

~:~

Adhlea finished the _vallaslin_ on the final elf’s face, the blood-lines cooling to a vivid green. There were sixteen altogether, the members of the clan a mix of former alienage elves and teenagers who had decided they were ready. Only five amongst them could not handle the pain of the _vallaslin._

“Please remember,” Syven said, standing as he addressed the members with the _vallaslin_ newly on their faces, “now that you carry the _vallaslin,_ you are now Dalish; if you were born and raised Dalish, you are now an adult. If you wish for your _vallaslin_ removed – such as leaving the Dalish world – come to me or the other Keeper, Keeper Thalia. While we _do_ know how to remove a _vallaslin,_ we know not if it would adversely affect your mental health. Remember the vows you have made upon receiving your _vallaslin.”_

The camp broke up as he finished his speech, Adhlea remaining utterly quiet.

He turned to her.

“You all right?”

Adhlea nodded. “Yes, I apologize.” She dragged a hand over her face. “The Inquisition is making me feel like I’m a Keeper of a really, _really_ fucked up clan.” She accepted a drink from a passing hunter.

“It’s been an insane few months,” agreed Syven, sitting next to her on a log. “Oh, here’s some juicy shit for you. I didn’t correct him – thought it might be hilarious if you did it – but the higher-ups in the Inquisition think we’re thirty.”

Adhlea choked on her drink as she held a hand over her mouth before letting loose. She threw her head back and laughed with utter happiness.

“Apparently the Iron Bull said so in his letter to the Arishok.”

That set the mage off, her laugh drawing many stares as she toppled off the log, her laughter flowing in the wind.

Syven grinned merrily in response.


	88. Chapter 88

“Dalish, I need your help.”

Dalish whipped around at the Inquisitor, piece of wolf meat from her rations dangling from her lips. The Inquisitor eyed the meat for a long second before Dalish shoved it in her mouth fully.

“Yeah?” Dalish asked after swallowing.

“You did not lie about using a bow, but I spoke with Krem and he said it was more… Like you made it appear.” The Inquisitor took a deep breath and spoke her next words in a rush. “AreyouaKnightEnchanteranddidyoumakeyourswordabow?”

“Yes, and yes,” Dalish admitted reluctantly. “Can’t wield a sword, and I didn’t really feel like fucking with the Fade every time I wielded magic, nor did I want to put up with any necromancer jokes, so. Fallow Mire’ll give you the more versatile spirits, but you’ll have to put your focus that’s usually on the top of the staff in the middle.”

She withdrew her short staff.

“It bugs the fuck out of newcomers,” Dalish grinned at her, right before focusing for a moment. The edges and string of a bow shimmered into existence; the mage let it remain as she continued talking with the Inquisitor. “Seriously, though, your best bet would be to go to the Fallow Mire. Worst comes to worst you’ll have to wield an actual sword. And, please.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t mention that I’m a Knight Enchanter.”

The Inquisitor gave her a big smile.

“Don’t worry, secret-keeper. I’ll keep that secret under lock.”

The Inquisitor bounced off.

Dalish let the bow fade from existence, a terrifying grin coming over her face as she realized that yes, she did have some newbies to lie to.

~:~

“ _Tsk, tsk,_ darling. This isn’t Orlesian at all.” Vivienne disapproved of the gown that currently sat upon a mannequin under a voluminous white cloak to cover her shoulders. Not only would it be stupid to dance in such a cloak, revealing her shoulder with the permanent Avvar marking (Vivienne had no idea why the Avvar marking was only just _now_ revealed to be permanent. Surely the elf had realized early?) in such a dress underneath was… _unwise,_ to say the least. And she _would_ be expected to dance.

“Well, it’s not supposed to be,” the Inquisitor revealed with a small smirk. “I heard that Queen Anora would be attending; she will appear in Ferelden-style clothes suited for a monarch of her standing. Representatives will be dressing in clear Orlesian fashion; I shall be appearing as the Inquisitor. I’ll be wearing my usual mask in order for them to get it through their heads that the Masked Duchess is the same as the Inquisitor, but I will _not_ be wearing those Maker-damned layers.”

Vivienne arched a brow at the woman. “You normally say ‘ _Creators-damned’,_ dear. Have you converted?”

Thalia held up a hand. “Don’t start, _dear._ I’m not reading the fucking Chant, if that’s what you want me to do.” She dropped her hand. “The style of clothes was made with my heritage in mind.”

She revealed the lining of the cloak filled with shimmering runes.

“The… apostate’s work?”

“ _Solas’_ work, yes,” the Inquisitor said, sharply. “He may not be an arcanist, but he’s well-versed with enchanting objects. Our arcanist will arrive soon.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Vivienne replied, dryly. “The clasps?” She indicated the clasps to hold the cloak together. “Inspired by your Dalish heritage, I presume.” It was not really a question, but a statement.

She gained a sharp smile from the Inquisitor. “Halla heads.”

“And lastly, the dress. If you intend for it to drape, darling, it will get soiled.”

“If you mean _will I wear shoes,_ yes. I have to with this dress.” Thalia moved to the side and swept half the cloak away. The sleeveless, one-shoulder black and red dress had a nearly-invisible, yet elegant, sash; Vivienne realized –

“ _That_ is why you’ve taken the Knight Enchanter discipline.”

It was hardly a secret. Since gaining teachers, Thalia had thrown herself into the Knight Enchanter discipline with such a vigor that the wisp caught by her on a _really fast_ trip to the Fallow Mire (two weeks. One week to get there, a day with her, Dorian, Elaine, and Allana all pulling at the Fade later and she was back with a wisp. They were just _barely_ going to make it to Halamshiral when they _did_ leave.) and she was working with what seemed to be a staff-sword. It was also well known that the sword actually seemed to be a shortsword; less of a hassle to train with _and_ she didn't have the time to learn how to wield an actual, full-length sword. It was to hide her staff.

“Yes,” Thalia said, nodding. “Which means I get to wield a sword, though I _am_ hoping it will not stay as my go-to weapon; I needed something that I could hide effectively underneath a cloak. Obviously, I cannot do so with an actual, _full-length_ staff. Magic is my greatest asset at the moment; they will be checking for knives on all but the regular attendees to her ball. The dress itself is backless so I don’t rip through it upon grasping my staff.” A secret smile played along her lips, like she was privy to something that Vivienne was not.

Vivienne placed a hand on her hip. “It’s actually a bow, isn’t it, darling.”

Thalia threw her a faux scowl. “Aw, Vivienne. You spill my secrets so easily!” The scowl melted. “It’s either a bow or a sword. I had to improvise, as I don’t think I’m getting arrows from Varric.”

“And you can’t _magically_ form arrows, darling?” Vivienne knew sarcasm did not befit her, but with the strides the young woman was making in her own magic compared to Vivienne’s achingly slow steps made her slightly jealous because – while she still _did_ study – Vivienne had to keep up her social circles. Not many expected the Inquisitor to do so, as she was busy; Vivienne took it upon herself to make herself invaluable that way, Lady Trevelyan helping on a near-constant basis as alliances were chosen for the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor was busy, and despite Vivienne not particularly liking House Trevelyan… the heiress of the impressive House was at _least_ good to help with messages to others for aide.

“No, Vivienne. I haven’t learned that yet. I can form it into a spirit blade or a bow. Depends on my mood. Happy?” The Inquisitor threw the other woman a scowl. “Dalish can do it, too. At least she didn’t lie about _that.”_ The elf took a shaky breath.

“It’s suddenly hitting you, isn’t it, darling?” Vivienne did not wait for her answer, instead withdrawing a box. “Here. For the ball. I’ve heard nothing but marvelous things about them from the Val Royeaux ball.” Vivienne smirked. “I’ll be in Halamshiral, too, darling. I cannot wait to see the witch’s face as I show up.”

Thalia opened the box, a smirk appearing on her face as she took them in. Instead of just being fancy, plain and delicate ones, similar to the ones she’d worn to Tevinter, they were dotted with rubies and dark onyx. Red and black was all Vivienne had known of her clothing for the Halamshiral ball; she was glad these ear-cuffs would work.

Vivienne allowed her time to appreciate the ear-cuffs as she stared at the dress. Black at the top faded into red. Adhlea must have had a pair of shoes made just for this occasion.

Oooh, yes; Vivienne herself was wearing normal Enchanter’s garb to the event, having been invited as one of Celene’s arcane advisors; perhaps she’d arrange for her silver garb to be traded for blue. Royal blue, of course.

“And your mask?”

“One of my usual, similar to the Val Royeaux mask.” She did not take it out. “It’s in my room, ready for transport.” Vivienne nodded with approval.

“Your… _vallaslin_ will clash,” she told the other warningly.

Thalia’s smirk did not ease her. The Inquisitor had been absent due to the Fallow Mire incident and her dress fittings. It was five days to Halamshiral; they would just enter the city on the night of the fifteenth, giving them most of the next day to relax and get ready. Vivienne had one last question for the woman.

“And Gaspard?”

The woman’s smile faded.

“Ah. Yes. He’ll be entering with me, escorting me. As usual.” Something was bothering the woman, Vivienne could tell. “Vivienne, can you sneak a weapon into the ball?”

“I’ve no need, darling. I’m allowed my staff.” She gave the younger a dazzling smile. “Why?”

“We… think someone under Corypheus’ orders will attack the ball.” Adhlea perched on the steps in the room with her dress, staring at it. “I’m going to be dressed to impress, and it’s going to probably get blood stained on it.”

“Oh, that’s doubtful, dear.” Vivienne leaned in. “Simply have servants keep some clothes stashed in a room. They’ll not think much of it, even if you _do_ have weapons added to it. Everyone keeps a few weapons in the rooms. It’s to keep from any nasty surprises.” Honestly, it rendered her plan rather useless, but in a pinch, the Inquisitor _could_ get away with it. Orlesian or not, her cloak and dress were gorgeous. The sash, on the other hand, while looking good, just didn't fit. Judging by Thalia's grimace as she looked over her dress, the lady agreed.

“Thank the Maker these clothes are easy to remove,” Thalia muttered. “Even if the shoes aren’t.”

Vivienne did not ask.


	89. Chapter 89

“Lady Nicoline,” Adhlea said, offering the older duchess a proper nod.

“My dear!” Nicoline swept her in a hug. The other ladies in the room went silent at Nicoline’s actions. “I told you, my darling, call me Mother.”

“Um.” Adhlea blinked. “Okay… Mother?” She phrased it as a question.

Nicoline drew back, beaming. “That’s a girl,” the duchess praised. Adhlea felt embarrassed as she was drawn into the circle of old crows. “My new daughter-in-law,” Nicoline announced grandly. “Duke Gaspard’s lovely lady, Kerrah.”

“Thalia,” Adhlea corrected. “It’s a culture thing, Lady Nicoli – er, Mother.” She spotted the severe look on the lady’s face when she uttered the Lady part and changed mid-name. “I am Thalia.”

“Your Grace,” demurred the ladies, offering her a bow. Adhlea nodded politely back.

“She is also the renowned Herald of Andraste,” Nicoline stated, giving Adhlea a warm smile. “And head of the Inquisition. A lady of many titles.”

The ladies gained reluctant respect in their eyes, though Adhlea knew simply by having been in the vicinity of ladies like this at the Val Royeaux ball before her magic was returned that these ladies were also jealous of her status. Many of these women latched onto those of higher status.

“Only two I hold full claim on,” Adhlea said, her voice low. “Lady Reinette, Lady Camille, Lady Bridgette.”

“Your Grace,” the three ladies chorused.

Lady Camille bowed to her, then inclined her head to Nicoline. “Lady Nicoline, if you’ll excuse me and my sisters. We have other appointments to attend to.”

Lady Nicoline smiled. “Of course, darling.”

The three left the room, leaving Adhlea alone with Nicoline.

“You’ve retained the mask, I see.”

“I find it useful in many ways, Lady Nicoline. Keeps everyone guessing,” Adhlea said, moving away from her and taking a seat at the recently vacated loveseat.

“Is this a social call, my dear? Or do you need advice?”

“A bit of both,” Adhlea admitted. “There are… things that have come to my attention. And these things are… sensitive.”

“You come to me with a sensitive situation? Given your place of residence, I presume you came to me for what I taught my daughter.” Nicoline poured two drinks, placing them on the table before sitting across from Adhlea. Adhlea didn’t pick up the drink, as she needed a clear head for this conversation. “I encouraged my daughter to help Gaspard with his plans; she loved him, and he her. They made a good match from the start.” Nicoline settled back, eyeing her with sharp severity. “It has to do with the Empress, yes?”

“Yes.” Adhlea picked up the drink. Nicoline offered her a smile as she paused; Nicoline took her drink and sipped at it, taking a generous gulp before to show it wasn’t poisoned. Adhlea sipped her own.

“The Empress has been going harder on the alienage in Val Royeaux.” Nicoline set her drink down. “More money for more parties; lavish ones, too. New nobility, mostly so she can get more money off of them; she is desperate.”

“To have parties?” Adhlea frowned. “For what reason? I’ve not heard of –“

“You wouldn’t. She is desperate to keep in favor with the nobility, and the new nobles truly don’t see the value of the Game.” Nicoline’s lip curled as she said that. “As such, Empress Celene thinks to keep them in line is to pretend she isn’t worried about them. And Briala – Briala does not help. She claims to have the interest of the elves around, but it is not apparent. She certainly enjoys the finer things in life.”

Adhlea let out a chuckle. “Well, it is hard not to acquire such a taste, no?”

“It’s nothing against you, dear,” Nicoline assured her with a smile. “You have invested your wealth and power wisely. You don’t tend to try to turn people against you, but you gain enemies as well as allies. Briala’s sole ally is the Empress; and if you were at the last Val Royeaux ball, you remember Morrigan.”

“I do,” Adhlea murmured, a flash of rage curling within her thinking of the witch’s audacity.

“Morrigan is tolerated because of her repository of knowledge and power. She has officially been named the Empress’ High Advisor of Arcane Matters; lovely Vivienne is now her underling.”

Adhlea arched a brow. “Since Vivienne so obviously threw her lot in with the Inquisition, I am not surprised.”

Nicoline inclined her head. “A decline in status was inevitable. From what I hear, the Wild Witch is abhorrent to be around.”

Adhlea nodded. “The last time, I could barely tolerate her presence.”

Nicoline sighed, setting her glass down. “And now we must go to the last person that would be able to take the throne. Gaspard.”

Adhlea set her drink down, too.

“If you de-throne Celene and have Briala uprooted, the only candidate left is Gaspard. He is a military-minded man.” Nicoline kept gazing at Adhlea. “I supported Gaspard, even in the light, because I did not think Celene had the skin thick enough to do what needed to be done. Gaspard will do things through brute force – and he knows the value of such things as the Game. The Game might not always work as well as planned, but.” Nicoline shrugged. “Unfortunately, he is so minded that people such as the House of Repose would be out of work.”

“Not a bad thing,” Adhlea muttered.

“No,” agreed Nicoline, “but if something had to be done discreetly, then using brute force would not work. Think on this, my dear. All that I’ve said should bring about a conclusion.”

“I will definitely think upon your words,” Adhlea agreed, just as a knock sounded on the door.

Both women started. The door opened, Nicoline’s husband Bastien entering.

“My dear,” Bastien said, his eyes going first to his wife. Adhlea stood with Nicoline; Bastien turned to look at her, an apologetic look upon his face before it turned to surprise. “My dear!” he said, beaming and drawing Adhlea into a hug. Adhlea’s eyes widened, slightly taken aback. “I am glad you have come to visit, dear child,” the older lord said. Adhlea blinked at Nicoline, at a loss for words.

“Dear Bastien,” Nicoline giggled. “She didn’t know to call me mother. I’m afraid she did not take us seriously.”

Bastien laughed. “But of course we were serious! You are family now, just as Gaspard is our son-in-law. In fact, you may call us mother and father in public, if you desire.” He lowered his voice. “Just don’t call Vivienne mother, it might upset her.”

Adhlea snorted. “I would be glad to call you such,” Adhlea said with a soft smile. “I almost wish we were blood related. You would make a better father than the one who calls himself such.”

Nicoline looked politely inquisitive. “If I might pry, you do not talk of your parents that much.”

“The one who gave his – forgive my next words, please – sperm to my mother can not be called my father,” Adhlea murmured, extricating her hands from Bastien’s. “My mother is dead, and the one I have called such since recently died.”

“Forgive me,” Nicoline said, a slight crease in between her brows.

“I do not speak of them because… Well.” Adhlea shrugged. “My father is not one who I speak of for personal reasons and my mother was killed. Plus, they were elves, and nobody cares about nameless –“

Adhlea bit her lip, controlling her face.

“Forgive me, please. I… feel very strongly about some subjects.” Adhlea swallowed. “If you’ll pardon me, Lady – Mother,” she squeaked at the mild glare Nicoline gave her. “I must go and make certain everything is ready for tomorrow. I shall see you two at the ball?”

Nicoline bent her head. “Forgive me for keeping you long. I know you have not had much time to rest. I shall not keep you longer.”

“Just one last question, if you don’t mind,” Bastien said, stopping Adhlea as she started to leave the opulent manor. “You are aware there’s a Qunari woman out there, next to the Inquisition carriage?”

Adhlea glanced at Lady Nicoline. “She’s my guard… Father.” The titles sounded odd in her mouth. Nicoline gave her an approving smirk. “Also, please don’t call her a Qunari. She’s… rather fond of attempting to axe people who try to call her that. She’s an Adaar.”


	90. Halamshiral P.1

“Queen Anora Cousland of Ferelden, and her lover, the Hero of Ferelden, Doshiel Aleriel!”

The two women walked in to scattered, dead applause. Anora could see several representatives from Rivain, Nevarra, and Antiva; a spy from Tevinter who scowled in his glass; possibly a Qunari spy, and at _least_ half the servants were carrying hidden weapons.

(Anora knew what to look for, thanks to her lover’s warning. Luckily Leliana’s raven had not been intercepted.)

She inclined her head to the Empress, Doshiel giving a shitty curtsy. Giving that Doshiel was acting drunk, she could be excused.

“Leliana Nightingale, Left Hand of the Divine, accompanied by Josephine Montilyet of Antiva and Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford!” More polite applause as Leliana Nightingale and Josephine Montilyet stepped in, resplendent in blue dresses that matched; both looked like refined nobility, Leliana’s hair in a braid and Josephine’s let loose. Cullen Rutherford was dressed in a red suit with a blue sash on it, the two ladies on his arms. The three bowed to the Empress, who flicked her hand in dismissal.

“The Lady Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste and Grand Duchess of the Frostbacks, Inquisitor Thalia Lavellan accompanied by Grand Duke of Verchiel, Duke Gaspard de Chalons!”

~:~

The woman that entered stole the light once more. Red hair in an elegantly messy bun, the Inquisitor descended with a white hooded cloak, a bare arm tucked into Gaspard’s clothed arm. A red mask, similar to the one Celene had noticed in Val Royeaux that it covered her eyes, was only similar in that way. The elf’s Dalish markings were on full display; lines stitched onto the mask reached up from under her eyes to connect to the ones on her forehead. There was also a barely-there black line matching to another line on her face that was not part of her blood markings. Celene noted, distractedly, that her gown did not touch the floor and that the elf was indeed taller.

Beside her, Briala – who had failed, last time, in getting her the information she’d desired – sucked in a sharp breath.

“Your Majesty,” the Inquisitor said, inclining her head as Anora had done while Gaspard, very briefly, bowed.

Celene noted as she did the ear-cuffs. The elf had spared no expense, it seemed.

“Her elven serving man, Solas; her Qu –“

“ _Adaar,”_ a voice _growled._ “I’m a fucking _Adaar.”_

“Her _Adaar_ bodyguard, Yenera; renowned author Varric Tethras.”

Celene immediately noted that her serving man and the dwarf were dressed in the same clothing as the first man; the servant elf wore a helmet that had Vivienne clearing her throat. Celene nearly twisted to look at the woman, as the throat clearing seemed to actually have been a snigger. Vivienne remained deathly silent afterwards.

The Qunari woman entered, also wearing blue. There was no reason to single her out; it was clear that while she _did_ make for a pretty figure, she was primarily here to protect the Inquisitor.

“Expecting an attack, Inquisitor?”

The Inquisitor laughed in the silence of the room.

“Empress, one can never be _too_ careful at an Orlesian ball. If I recall correctly, the first one I ever went to ended on a… sour note, if you will.”

Ah, yes… That poorly-done attempt at an assassination by a bard. Celene offered a smirk of her own at the elf. “The boy was tone deaf; he should not have attempted to play at Val Royeaux.”

The elf inclined her head once more. “Ah, yes. Luckily Lady Morrigan stopped him from playing once more.”

Celene and the elf stared at each other for a moment before Celene closed her eyes, breaking the silence as she turned a glare on the bards.

~:~

“I’m… impressed,” Gaspard admitted as his elven wife gently picked up a flute of champagne. “You and my dear cousin just swapped _music puns.”_

She offered him a sly smile. “Much has happened since Val Royeaux, Gaspard,” she said, her voice low. “I am far more powerful, for one thing.” He quirked a brow, casting his gaze along the party members, all of whom gazed over at them, envious.

“Shall we adjourn to the garden, or mingle?”

She tilted her head, considering.

“The dance is not for hours yet,” she said at last. “Perhaps right before. We both have to greet people, yes?”

Gaspard nodded his head. He had to speak with Briala, and she had to pretend to be an expert in the Game. Perhaps this was all the Game was, a game of pretend.

He watched her leave. The cloak was odd, yet it drew attention in that fact, keeping eyes glued on her elegance rather than whatever she needed to hide. The elf was stopped by a new duchess, the duchess of Lydes; if Gaspard recalled correctly, his wife had had a hand in giving her a foothold.

Gaspard kept an eye on his sister. Any plans that had been made today hinged on Florianne doing what _she_ had planned, and nothing else.

Apparently, the fate of the throne hinged on his sister and his wife. His wife, an elf, who had in herself a deep dislike for the Empress –

 _Hah,_ he realized, hiding his smirk with his flute of champagne. _How ironic._ Usually it was an _elf_ who was trying to dethrone Celene and a _human_ saving her.

Well, fate was a bitch. He could only hope that whatever fate had in store for his cousin was swift. Either Celene or Florianne would die tonight – he thought that much was certain.


	91. Halamshiral P.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me be clear about something: The Inquisitor is in NO WAY actually flirting with Yenera in this chapter - not SERIOUSLY, anyway... for a very good reason. In fact, in one or two arcs you'll see exactly WHY she isn't. It may SEEM like that, but the Inquisitor really doesn't tend to find Adaar in her interests. Too tall.

“I have missed court intrigue,” Solas murmured, gazing over the crowds. In Arlathan, he had been in the midst of that court intrigue; politics, sex, intrigue – he could remember one particular memory when he’d been as brazen – but not as… _disgusting_ – as Falon’Din. Women had fawned over him, courtesans and slaves draped over him…

“When have _you_ been to a court, Chuckles?” Solas cast his gaze down at Varric with a slight smirk.

“I’m older than I look,” was all Solas replied.

The dwarf sized him up. “About, maybe less than, twice the Inquisitor’s age.”

Solas simply returned his attention to the floor below, saying nothing on the matter and watching as said woman spoke with the other nobles. He remained troubled by one thing, something that floated up from the depths of his mind.

Somehow, Enaste knew who he was. She’d told the rest of the clan, none of whom seemed too perturbed. Well, the older ones gave him a wide berth, the ones that had grown up in the lessons of the previous Keeper, but whatever Keeper Istimaethoriel had taught the younger members…

Well, he was not surprised that Enaste had figured it out. Istimaethoriel had known on sight, somehow. Solas found himself frowning even as Thalia approached, coming ever closer.

“She’s one hell of a beauty,” sighed Yenera. “It’s like Dalish elves are _born_ gorgeous.”

“Remember, she _is_ also a duchess,” Varric reminded the built Adaar.

The woman snorted. “As if that matters. She doesn’t wear make-up when she’s on the road or working from Skyhold. She’s a natural beauty. Solas, _what_ is with that stupid helmet?”

“Merely a joke,” Solas murmured. “Should you be worried more about gathering intelligence and not my choice of headwear?”

“Eh. We’ve got time,” Varric dismissed. “The dancing doesn’t start ‘til near the end of night. This is all posturing and flirting and pretending now.”

And they were doing it well. People were leaving the floor; Yenera stalked away as the Inquisitor was speaking with a young woman, her face earnest.

Solas closed his eyes for a moment, setting his flute of champagne down. He had another thing to do; with the Inquisitor out of the way he could do so.

“Where’re you going, Chuckles?”

“Elsewhere, Master Tethras,” he replied, crisply as he walked away.

~:~

Briala found herself accosted by the apostate mage while she headed towards the kitchens under a pretext of ordering a dessert for the Empress. She’d order the dessert, just not before she met with Felassan.

“Yes?” she questioned the serving man. The serving man spoke a greeting, bowing his head to her; Briala spoke it back, her back straightening. “What does he wish for me to do?”

“Support the Inquisition,” the serving man said, his eyes cool. “That is his instruction.”

Briala nodded shortly. “Is that it?”

“No.” The serving man shook his head. “He also wishes to know what you have done with the mirror.”

Something cold slithered down her spine. _Fuck._ She didn’t allow her face to change.

“Morrigan has control over it,” she replied. “Not I.”

That… was a lie, if only by omission. Briala had been able to enter it after speaking Fen’Harel’s greeting, of which this man had spoken to her, to it.

“I see. And if he questions just _who_ this Morrigan is?”

“Morrigan is a witch of the Korcari Wilds,” Briala said, clasping her hands behind her back. “She retrieved it when the elf woman, Merrill, told her of it. That is all I know of it.” Not true, but hopefully this apostate could not sense she lied. “Is there anything _else?”_

She didn’t mean to come off as rude, but her temper was slowly fraying and her fear was growing as the serving elf stared at her, an unfathomable look in his eyes.

“No,” the elf said after a long, tense moment. “Just be sure to get the mirror to Skyhold.”

The elf vanished.

Briala exhaled, starting forward. Felassan had to know of this development immediately.

~:~

“You’re a Qunari, right? That’s interesting. How was Seheron?”

“I never lived in Seheron,” Yenera bit out as she tried to politely excuse herself from the crowd, on edge.

“Really? So were you living in Par Vollen?”

“I –“

“Excuse me,” the Inquisitor trilled, catching their attention almost effortlessly. “Yenera is Dalish; she was born in the Dales, similar to I.” The Inquisitor offered Yenera a smile, almost detached. “Don’t the people of the Dales grow up so… _well.”_

She was making it obvious that she did not like their words to poison Yenera; Yenera figured the coy look being given to her was false. Despite murmurs in the Inquisition, Yenera had not seen the Inquisitor look enamored with anyone other than Solas, much less a woman.

“Ooh,” giggled one of the ladies, fanning herself. “Are you two… perhaps… _lovers?”_

The Inquisitor giggled. “No. Despite my best efforts, Yenera remains strictly my bodyguard.” The Inquisitor’s voice dropped. “However, if I _did_ have a lover, I’m certain I’d go for a completely different type.”

The ladies giggled and tittered; then one of them looked around.

“Lady Reinette is breaking her diet again,” she whispered, ducking into the group and drawing the conversation elsewhere.

The Inquisitor pushed Yenera back. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies.” The ladies barely gave her a look as she left the gaggle, gesturing for Yenera to follow her. “Yenera, be careful what you say,” the Inquisitor warned in a low voice, next to the food table. “Any wrong word could shred the reputation of the Inquisition into shreds.”

Yenera dipped her head. “I was instructed by Elaine, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor looked relieved before stopping Yenera from eating.

“Don’t eat any of the food until after the ball, and even then I’d just go slip into the kitchens,” the Inquisitor murmured to her. “In the morning I would not be alarmed to hear someone died of poison.”

“The nobility of Orlais is fucking weird.”

“Speaking of _dying of poison,”_ the Inquisitor mumbled.

Yenera turned to see the Warden, drinking out of a flask. She tipped it in the air at the Inquisitor with a sarcastic smile before it dropped with her drink.

“I have to be on a non-alcohol diet,” the Warden explained grouchily. “Apparently not even _this_ clusterfuck is enough to allow me actual ale.”

“Damn,” Yenera said, after a long moment. “You’re the one who killed the last archdemon.”

The Warden snorted. “Fat lot of good _that_ did. It’s still up and running around as Corypiss’s pet.”

“No, it’s dead,” the Inquisitor replied with a smile. “It _smells_ it, too.”

The Warden grimaced before taking another swig of whatever she had in her flask.

“Was going to search for a cure for the Calling,” the Warden explained, “but someone else beat me to it.”

“There’s a cure for the Calling?” The Inquisitor’s eyes were probably wider than Yenera’s.

“No, but a good few friends of mine who survived the archdemon – they’re searching for it.” The Warden looked down for a moment, before forcing a smile on her face. “Right. Well, Anora’s calling, got to go!”

Yenera was only slightly disappointed her idol was leaving.

“Never meet your heroes,” the Inquisitor muttered. Yenera turned to her.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” the Inquisitor said with a smile. “Come, let’s mingle.”


	92. Halamshiral P.3

The dance was going to happen, soon. Adhlea made certain that she was ready for anything; meaning, the young elf slipped away to check on the supplies. She heard a whisper in one of the hallways as she walked them; quickly, she hid herself behind a pillar.

“- cannot disobey him,” Briala’s voice hissed. “You were to be here _hours_ ago.”

“I know,” a male voice responded, gruff and annoyed. “Problem was with the Qun. They’re getting ready to start something, but I don’t know what.”

“That’s _just_ what we need,” Briala muttered. “The Qun getting riled up.”

“I can say that they’ll not start something until after Corypheus is taken care of. Problem is they’re extending a branch to the Inquisition to see if they might destroy him.”

“And if they deem the Inquisition unworthy?”

“Well, the Inquisition will most likely face a war on all fronts, though they might face an ally in Tevinter.” A pause. “Are you certain you were not followed?”

The man’s voice dropped.

“Of course I –“

Adhlea dodged, her senses alerting her of something behind her; her shoes, a pair of too-elegant heels to keep her dress off the floor, were not suitable to espionage. She tripped and fell on the floor.

“Inquisitor!” An elf poised to kill her, his dagger inches from her throat, stopped as soon as he heard that word. “Felassan, this is the one that isn’t to be harmed. Besides.” Briala glared down at her. “You know better than to tell tales.”

Adhlea rolled her eyes, knocking the elf’s weapon aside.

“Please, as if you two would actually care if I died. I heard only things about the Qunari. Perhaps, instead of your attention being on them you should watch the Empress,” Adhlea hissed at her. “Someone aligned with Corypheus is going to attack the moment the ball starts and attempt to kill the Empress. It would not do for such a power vacuum to appear _right in the middle of Corypheus’ reign of terror.”_

Briala’s eyes met Felassan’s. An understanding passed between them.

“I cannot stay,” the elf said, sheathing his knife. “But perhaps you ought to tell the Inquisitor why the Wolf cannot get his hands on the Eluvian network.”

“You mean Fen’Harel?” The elf tossed her a look as he left, vanishing from the hallway without answering her.

Briala wrung her hands. “I thought I was right, when I spoke to you about harboring any elves I set your way.” Adhlea remembered the thinly-concealed threat that night she’d met Briala. “But I was wrong. Both Felassan and I both know it. Fen’Harel… he wants to destroy our world.”

Adhlea stared at Briala. “But – but _he_ showed me to Skyhold!”

Briala shrugged. “I do not know,” she said, sounding hopeless. “Do not let your apostate know. He is not to be trusted. He is an agent of Fen’Harel.”

_Solas, an agent of Fen’Harel? Can I trust Briala?_

“I know you cannot go by my word alone,” Briala whispered, “but Felassan is most likely going to die soon. He knows too much _and_ he let slip to Fen’Harel that he does not wish this world to die. I will pass along information as I –“

“Wait.” Adhlea took a deep breath and leaned in, whispering in Briala’s ear. _“Let us speak of this tonight, when the others slumber.”_

Briala’s breath jerked in. “Are you Fen’Harel?”

Adhlea withdrew, frowning. “No. Why would I be –“

“That’s where he is,” Briala whispered, looking pale white. “That is where Fen’Harel hides. If you can ward us well, then I will speak with you in my dreams. But please. Be _very_ careful.”

With that parting message, Adhlea was left alone as Briala ran back to the ball.

Adhlea re-entered the court, smiling and giggling as though she’d never left it. And yet, when her eyes passed over Solas, a niggle of doubt entered her mind when considering the elvhen woman’s words. Briala had no reason to lie, after all; if she was right, Briala was risking her own neck by telling her this.

Adhlea was drawn into a conversation with Lady Bridgette, a long-time patron of the Val Royeaux alienage.

“Excuse us, Lady Bridgette.” Adhlea turned to see Gaspard as he spoke, grasping her elbow gently.

Adhlea inclined her head. Lady Bridgette giggled in response before curtsying and taking her leave.

“Shall we adjourn to the garden, my dear?” Gaspard asked, loud enough to be heard. “I did not get to show it to you the last time we were here.” Well, actually, they’d been _married_ in the garden, but Adhlea had not really paid any attention to that.

“Certainly,” Adhlea said, latching onto him more firmly. Together, they ventured out into the gardens, a last respite before all hell was suspected to break loose.

Eyes were watching them, but Adhlea knew they weren’t in hearing range if they spoke low.

“Are you and… your elven servant sleeping together?”

Despite herself, Adhlea snorted.

“No. He refuses.” Adhlea turned to him. “Does that make you jealous, Gaspard?”

Eyes of slate met hers.

“You are a gorgeous woman, Adhlea. If my advances would have been welcome, I would have been jealous; however, I am clear on the fact our marriage was nothing more than a cover.” He sat down on a bench, then offered her a seat. They could not stay there long; too many possible risks. “You are obviously better off with him than I.”

Adhlea laughed bitterly. “Ah, well. Sometimes it does not feel that way.”

“I thought –“

“We _are_ in a relationship,” she hedged, “but a rather uncertain one. While I wish to move forward, he is not quite as willing to do so.” She sighed, flushing as she realized she’d said more than enough to a man she harbored little feelings – negative or otherwise – for. “I did not truly wish to discuss my affair in front of you, Gaspard. For all that we barely know one another, you have been exceptionally kind to me. It seems I am a poor lady if I rip your reputation to shreds simply because I want another.”

Gaspard waved his hand. “At least you have a future better than a life of being a trophy wife; you are ill-suited, I think, as one.” He gave her a small smile. “I would hope that we remain friends throughout this time.”

Adhlea offered him a small smile. “I would like that,” she admitted. “Friends is… something I can do with you. Unless you turn on me and sell me out, if this is but a ploy of the Game, for which I will _happily_ light you on fire.”

He chuckled. “So long’s there is a torch nearby, right?”

“No, Gaspard.” Adhlea beamed at him. “It’s a rather… long and complex story that also has to do with me running off at the previous ball.” She took a deep breath and, reaching behind her back to touch her staff under her cloak, the elf summoned a fireball out of view.

“You’re a mage again,” Gaspard breathed. “ _That_ is why you said what you did earlier.” He swallowed. “Just so you know, I’ve already made arrangements for us in case one of us does not make it,” he said, suddenly lowly. “The Empress’ signature and the signature of several prominent members of the Lords’ Court have signed and agreed to both, should one of us die.”

“Neither of us will, if all goes to plan,” Adhlea said, extinguishing her flame and standing, not wishing to hear more of his words.

“Thalia, there will be bloodshed tonight,” he warned.

“I know,” Adhlea replied, her voice muted. “But I will prevent as much as I can.”

A bell tolled.

“We cannot be late,” Gaspard murmured.

“No, we cannot.”

Together Adhlea and Gaspard went back into the Winter Palace to face the storm.


	93. Halamshiral P.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a more detailed understanding of Gaspard and Adhlea's relationship, I'll be posting an explanation on my blog shortly.

Adhlea descended the steps to the dance floor gracefully and elegantly, Gaspard at her side. She bowed to him as the dancing partners lined up and bowed to theirs; this was for Celene’s amusement, watching a power play amongst the nobles.

Who would leave quicker? She’d take note of it. Vivienne had offered her a minimal bit of advice.

_Do not leave the dance floor until you are certain the dance is over._

The life of the empress depended on it. Florianne danced with Cullen, her lips moving, her words inaudible. Adhlea had left him with the information-gathering; he was the most likely to catch her attention and he had done his part amazingly well.

She offered a hand as everyone else did, circling him as they did.

He took her in his arms, and Adhlea focused on his eyes, his own which stared in hers, and prayed that she’d not fall. She need not have worried; he managed to correct any almost-falls with ease. It helped – and yet did not – that she wore such tall shoes.

The dance was in utter silence between the two. He dipped her, her head falling back to meet Briala’s open mouth and the Empress’ visage, too hidden by her own mask to see her face.

Applause filled the ballroom. Applause that made people lean to each other and whisper; about what, Adhlea was unsure. As he lifted her, she noted the barely-disguised heat in Gapard’s eyes and cast her eyes aside. She could not give him what he wanted, and she hoped he would remember their conversation.

Still, Adhlea felt like the Empress would listen to her if she needed to warn her.

“Your advisor requests your presence,” Gaspard murmured as he brought her up.

She nodded; Gaspard accompanied her to the edge of the dance floor.

Yenera looked impressed. “Andraste’s tits, Inquisitor,” the Adaar muttered. “I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“I wish I could revisit this moment,” added Leliana, her brows up. “And Cullen has information. He says that Florianne said Gaspard was involved.”

“I told him I’d kill him if that were the case,” Adhlea told her. “He’s not involved. What else did Florianne say?”

“That one of Gaspard’s men awaits us in the gardens,” Cullen admitted. “She said the man knew about the assassination plot.”

“I know very little of Florianne,” admitted Adhlea honestly, “other than she was kind to me when I married Gaspard when I met her. But I can tell you, without a doubt, that Gaspard is _innocent in this._ He is _not_ attempting to…” Adhlea’s voice trailed off as a few nobles passed the suspicious-looking group. “…do the thing. Look, I will go meet with this man of Gaspard’s, and –“

Her attention jerked towards the garden.

 _“Fenedhis!_ Cullen, I’m going to have to stop a damn Rift. I’ll be back shortly – keep the nobles away from the windows!”

Adhlea hurried off, passing Solas; Adhlea said nothing to him as she hurried into the room and took off her cloak, cursing as she realized she only had time to take off her shoes and dress. Quickly, she dressed only in the inner-most layer of the enchanter’s robe she’d tucked into the room; she put some rogue powder on and ran out of the ballroom, bare feet quiet but not silent. Quietly, she slid into the garden; some of the unlucky nobles were cowering.

Rogue powder fading from her form, Adhlea jumped onto the grass, tucking herself in a ball and rolling to a stop next to a terror demon.

Adhlea got up, knives appearing.

“Your Grace! This thing appeared when Lady Florianne did!”

“Got it! Keep focus on your side!” Adhlea whirled, barely missing a rage demon’s attack. Her knives cut through them like butter, demon guts and blood showering onto her. She took a moment to dive under a bush and raise her hand, connecting to the rift in the garden. She managed to close it.

A blow sent her flying forward. Adhlea wheezed as she fought for breath after cracking her skull against the stone bench that she’d sat upon earlier, dragging herself upright as she pulled breaths into her lungs.

A cool barrier encased her. Adhlea felt Solas’ presence around; Adhlea turned to see an enraged-looking Florianne glaring at her hatefully.

“You took my birthright,” the woman spat, livid. “You’re nothing but a fucking _elf_ who stole what was his _and_ mine.”

Adhlea allowed a sneer to curl on her face.

“Oh, is someone angry that I’m prettier than you?”

Adhlea and Florianne both knew she was referencing the shocking decision it was of the _Empress_ to name Adhlea, an _elf_ , as Grand Duchess. And, of course, Celene’s elvhen lover.

Florianne snarled as best as a human could before running. Adhlea followed her, covered in demon guts.

Into the palace, where she applied rogue powder just in sight of several nobles; Adhlea kept running past them, following Gaspard’s fleeing sister; she was heading directly for the Empress.

Her rogue powder lost its effect; it was probably a sight for Celene to see as Adhlea yelled Yenera’s name.

The Adaar took one look at her and instantly knelt, cupping her hands; Adhlea poured on the speed and leaped on her arms.

Yenera threw her. Threw her so hard Vivienne had to take action, pulling up an ice wall that Adhlea slammed into and crashed through, paces away from the Empress. Adhlea stood, a fierce look on her face. The Empress dropped her flute of champagne.

Adhlea turned, sliding into a stance; Florianne stopped.

“You cannot stop me,” Florianne proclaimed.

“True, I cannot stop your path,” Adhlea said, a wicked grin at her face. “But first, you’ll have to get through me. And them.” Adhlea inclined her head to Leliana’s position directly across from her, from where Leliana had drawn a bow. Behind her, where Yenera had drawn her battle-axe from a nearby shattered vase. Cullen was behind Yenera, templar sword halfway out of its sheath. “And then, you’ll not make it because you’ll be poked full of arrows.”

Florianne looked confused.

Then Josie whistled.

It echoed. The middle bard broke his instrument and took out a bow.

“I’ve heard of you,” Florianne sneered. “You have only two knives, _Inquisitor._ And I’m afraid my brother is in on this too.”

She gestured. Doors were shoved wide open. Chevaliers appeared.

Adhlea didn’t swallow.

“You have only two knives. I have every single person in this room held hostage.” Florianne edged forward. To stop her, Adhlea threw her knives.

“Don’t fucking test me,” Adhlea growled.

“And now you lost your _two weapons,”_ Florianne laughed.

_No, I really haven’t._

“Actually, Florianne, here’s a little bit of news.” Adhlea gripped her staff from where she’d shoved it. “I’m a fucking _mage,_ you _bitch.”_

Adhlea drew a shimmering longbow from behind her.

“You’ve no arrows,” Florianne said, smirking and taking another step.

Adhlea envisioned it, closing her eyes as she drew the ethereal longbow completely made of Fade energy. As Solas once said, _anything is possible for a mage._ Yes, she’d forgotten to bring the sole arrow she’d had made for this trip (her skill with a bow remained renowned, if only because of an incident in Verchiel); but she was a _damned good mage._ At the very least, an illusion would work.

Florianne took the moment to run at her and Celene.

A hot burst of energy extended past her forefinger. Florianne screamed as Adhlea loosed her arrow, opening her eyes.

Florianne was frozen, staring at the burning, arrow-shaped magical arrow.

“Guards,” Adhlea said, her voice devoid of emotion. “That woman is attempting to kill Celene Valmont. Arrest her.”

Inquisition soldiers were there as the guards hesitated, shoving the formerly elegant woman to her knees and binding her hands.

Adhlea let the bow fade from existence, then turned to Celene.

“I do hope this doesn’t ruin your night, Empress.” Adhlea inclined her head.

The Empress snorted quietly. “You lied to me in Val Royeaux.”

Adhlea shook her head. “I did not, not at the time,” she refuted gently. “Someone I treasured gave me magic back.” She touched her _vallaslin_ absently. “With all due respect, I believe I shall retire whilst my men take Florianne to your dungeons… If,” she added quickly, “that’s where you want her.”

Celene nodded. “Indeed.”

Adhlea made a gesture before walking away from Celene. The many nobles who had witnessed this looked away from her.

Gaspard, however, tipped a glass to her silently.

Even Solas looked impressed as she walked down the silent hallway.

Entering the room she shared with Gaspard, the mage glanced in the adjoining room to see a servant pouring bathwater; as soon as the servant turned, she looked surprised to see Adhlea.

“Oh, miss – I heard the commotion and I thought –“

“Where did you get those markings from?” False _vallaslin_ was popular, if not easy to tell apart, from the real thing;

“Oh.” The elf looked embarrassed. “It’s… something I recently got from an artist. They’re not intended for disrespect.”

Adhlea nodded. As the elf left, Adhlea called after her.

“Dirthamen, keeper of secrets.” She gave the elf a half smile when she left. “That’s what your false markings mean.” Adhlea swept into the bath, shutting the door behind her and sliding in after stripping of her gore-covered clothes. Celene would have a mess to clean up; Adhlea would have to deal with her actions tomorrow. The heat of the bath combined with the soreness her body felt soothed her, drawing her into a half-sleep.

The door opened, a hissed oath leaving a mouth before the door shut.

Adhlea blinked, twisting her head around sleepily. No sounds came from the room; Adhlea realized that the water had grown tepid and stood, water cascading around her.

Recalling her promise, Adhlea slipped on her smallclothes before peeking around the door. Nobody.

She slipped to the wardrobe, knowing the Empress always had a stock of clothes for her guests, male or female.

Sliding into a nightdress, she pulled off an extra blanket from the bed. With a yawn, she walked over to grab her staff before pulling protection wards from the back of her mind; normally, only runes to keep away demons. This time, she warded her dreams from all but those invited in, using the end of her staff. Tightly, so that nobody could get in; she drew them around the settee before settling in it and drawing the blanket around herself.

As she curled up, she missed the actual bedspace of her bed at home.

 _When did I start thinking of Skyhold as home?_ She wondered, idly.

The door opened. Adhlea didn’t move from her spot on the settee, once more half asleep. She pulled the blanket up, hearing the door shut, the bathroom door shut… and then she was in the Fade.

She was alone; it was quite eerie. Adhlea found herself in a hallway in the Winter Palace, the murmurs of dreams all around her. She walked in bare feet, then realized she was wearing her nightgown.

 _In the Fade, anything is possible,_ Solas had told her. Adhlea looked down and focused, watching with awe as her clothes turned to the dress she was wearing, at the perfect height.

She perused the Fade here at her leisure. More and more people joined the world of dreams; Adhlea stayed well away from them when she figured they were not Briala.

Briala’s dreams popped up quickly.

“Briala.”

Briala jerked, looking as she did usually at the Empress’ side.

“You’re going to be tied up in meetings until the Empress gets what she wants, so I would make yourself comfortable here.” Briala waved her hand, shaping the area around her. It formed into a room with a couch and bed. “Hopefully we can talk?”

“I think so.” Adhlea sat down on the couch. “Now, tell me,” she ordered, going into Inquisitor mode, “why I should not trust my Fade expert, Briala.”

Briala shuddered at her facial expression.

“He is an agent of Fen’Harel,” Briala said, interlocking her fingers. “An agent of the god who seeks the removal of the Veil.”

Adhlea tilted her head. “Well, I should hope he knows that it’s already weaker than fuck,” she muttered. Briala knit her brows together. Adhlea looked up at her. “Every time I close a rift it feels like I’m stressing the Veil ever more. It’s thinning naturally _and_ unnaturally.”

Briala smirked. “I’ll tell Felassan. Perhaps that knowledge will make him more valuable to Fen’Harel.”

“It’s rather useless, though.” Adhlea frowned. “He said something about the Qunari?”

Briala nodded. “He was to watch them, make certain they are not a threat to the Inquisition.”

Adhlea frowned harder. “Why would Fen’Harel care about the Inquisition?”

Briala shrugged again. “You are all most likely pawns of his.” Adhlea raised one of her eyebrows skeptically. Briala raised her hands in her own defense. “Look, it’s just a thought. I do not know magical theory, nor do I question his words.”

Adhlea suppressed an eyeroll. “It is not a theory,” she said, wishing for a cup of Tevene coffee.

As she did, it appeared in her hands. Just perfect; warm steam curled from the cold cup.

“I wouldn’t drink it,” Briala grimaced. “And what do you mean, it isn’t a theory?”

Adhlea took a deep breath, willing the coffee away.

“If you tell Celene about this,” Adhlea said, her voice low, “I will know it was you who said it.” She was warning Briala; Briala nodded sharply. “The servant girl I… hired from Lord Ventus’ estate? Calia? She was no mage before arriving at Skyhold. I could simply say that it was an accident, if not for the fact half my servants under the age of thirty have gained magic.”

Briala’s eyes widened.


	94. Chapter 94

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics abound!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is essentially the thought process I had to go through while I was writing at 2am. Convoluted AF and most likely - as with the magical reasoning I've come up with to do with this story - a bunch of flaming BS!
> 
> ENJOY.

“Worried about her, Chuckles?” Varric side-eyed the elf who was reading a book, though in the last five minutes hadn’t turned a single page. “She’s not being eaten alive yet; just because she’s been in negotiations for half a day doesn’t mean something’s happening.”

Solas didn’t move, still staring at the book he was supposedly reading.

The library door opened, bringing with it a furious Adhlea, twin spots of red in her face; she was closely followed by Josephine and Leliana, who were whispering in hushed voices.

“Something happen?” Varric watched on as Solas looked up to gaze at Adhlea with a frown. The woman just flopped, unladylike, on the chair in the spacious parlor of the ensuite Varric, Solas, and Yenera were sharing with Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. As seemed to be the norm, the men and women were separated, but in the ensuite everyone was just doing their own thing while waiting for the all-clear.

“Nothing important,” Adhlea grumbled with a scowl. “I’m to take over any of Florianne’s possessions, by the de Chalons’ family Right of Conquest. They’re to be transferred to my chateau. That’s… all I got out of this meeting.”

“There’s three more,” Leliana said, sharing a glance with Josephine. “One more after the Empress takes her meal and two more tomorrow. It is not simply arguing about policy.”

Curly entered the room, shutting the door.

“No,” Curly said. “It’s who should truly be on the throne of Orlais.”

“As Celene said, she has the blood right,” Josephine pointed out.

“Briala would help the cause of your people more,” countered Leliana, looking directly at Adhlea. “She is more than suited up to the task.”

“I would support Gaspard,” Cullen countered.

“Unfortunately, my options without bias mean I pick Celene,” interrupted Adhlea. “Considering Briala and I share a common race and Gaspard is my husband, if you’ll all recall, then Celene would be the diplomatic choice and _everyone_ knows it. I cannot, however, do such a thing _because_ of Celene being herself. No matter the cause, I cannot support a woman who does very little for the people she rules.”

“And who the Inquisition supports, so do the noble families backing her.” It was Chuckles who said this, drawing attention as he looked to Adhlea with a strange face. “Correct?”

“Yes,” Adhlea nodded, glancing at Solas with a half-smile. “There’s also another reason I cannot back Gaspard into taking the throne. He is, as I said, my husband. Even if he has no…” She closed her eyes. “All right, Gaspard is more than infertile. Due to an incident after he married Calienne – his first wife – he _could_ be considered a eunuch.”

There was a pause. Varric’s eyes widened even as a smirk twitched across his face. Adhlea had a hint of red on her face as she divulged this information.

“And, considering on our wedding night I was, er, requested to bloody some of the sheets…” Adhlea swallowed as she blushed at the admission. “If, let’s say Gaspard _does_ become Emperor of Orlais, technically I _could_ take the throne of Orlais.”

“But you are not of the bloodline,” Leliana murmured.

“Let’s just say that not every Emperor and Empress was blood related,” Adhlea muttered. “I was forced to learn this when Gaspard was more inclined to kill the Empress. He knew I did not care.” Varric was mildly impressed by her _current_ lack of care in her voice. Clearly she _still_ didn’t. “He had me learn the family bloodlines, even once presented me to a noble and lightly suggested I was a result of Qunari and human blood.” The look on her face clearly said what she thought of that. Varric hoped Dahlia had kicked the noble in their soft spot. And Gaspard.

“He wasn’t just grooming you to be _duchess,_ in other words,” Yenera said to the room at large. “He was grooming you in case you had to become Empress.” Adhlea grimaced. Leliana looked mildly impressed.

“Which is unlikely, unless Gaspard, Celene, _and_ Briala drop dead. Also, it would probably require a coup,” Adhlea muttered. “And given that I _just_ saved Celene from ugly death by Florianne, I don’t _want_ to be Empress of Orlais.” She wiped her face. “It’s too much to deal with. Queen Anora is with them now, to give us a respite.”

“Food, and then we return,” Josephine muttered. “I somewhat miss Antiva. Perhaps we should take a holiday there after Corypheus is dead?” She addressed the room at large.

“I would like that,” the Inquisitor sighed. “I wonder when the food is coming?”

“When the kitchens are done prepping it. I would say a while.”

Solas stood. “Might I talk with you in private, Inquisitor?”

She nodded and stood with him, the duo heading to a nook next to a bookcase. They were just for show, more than likely, as they had a layer of dust on their covers.

“So what now?” Varric questioned, grabbing everyone but Dahlia’s and Chuckles’ attention. “We’re supposed to remain here?”

“Yes. We are scheduled to leave day after tomorrow, if things are all settled.” Josephine cast Leliana a concerned look.

Leliana shrugged. “We _should_ be done with all of it, so long as the Inquisitor finally picks one of them.” She glanced at Varric suspiciously. “I _do_ hope you’re not writing a book about all of this.”

 _As if I **wouldn’t.**_ “Of course not,” Varric lied with a smile. “What do you think I am, someone who gets off at your misery?”

~:~

“Yes, Solas?” Thalia looked curious.

“Elevating Briala would be a smart move,” Solas offered. “She’s just the right amount of tricky.”

“Mm. But it would, again, seem like I am playing favorites. Which I cannot be seen doing,” Thalia admitted.

“Thalia –“

She tossed him a scowl. “How many times have I asked you since Tevinter to call me _Adhlea?”_

He hesitated. “Very well, _Adhlea.”_ He stared at her. “Why not back all three of them?”

“I’ve thought about it,” the Inquisitor admitted freely, leaning against the wall and staring out of the stained window. Below, Halamshiral did not stop; people kept moving and trading and everything else people did. “But I’d have to catch them in an argument. Unless I get Queen Anora to help it along, they’ll still be civil.”

“Then speak to her in her dreams,” Solas said, quirking a brow. “I presume you went dream-walking last night. I was, as well; there are many memories in this palace.”

She tilted her head, giving him an odd look. He knit his brows together as her expression smoothed over.

“I did. Briala wanted to ask me for a threesome. Me, her, and the Empress. I declined.”

Solas relaxed a little unintentionally. She returned her attention to outside the window.

“The Grand Duke went into your rooms last night,” Solas decided on saying.

“His rooms, too. Don’t worry.” She flashed him a half-smile. “I slept on the couch.”

“I am not worried,” Solas assured her. He fell quiet; then she sighed.

“Solas, do you really want this relationship?” Her voice was quiet and she avoided his gaze. “I have not told you something, and I fear it might ruin everything.”

“No matter what you tell me, _vhenan,_ I will not love you any less.” His arm twitched –

“Andraste’s tits, Chuckles, just move your fucking hand. We’re all _well_ aware of the relationship between you.” Varric’s rather _unwelcome_ interruption made both Adhlea and Solas turn to glare at him.

A knock on the door made sure they knew their food was here. Adhlea looked visibly upset.

“Tonight,” Solas said, catching her arm as she moved away. “Meet me in the Fade, tonight.”

Adhlea gave him a hesitant smile.


	95. Chapter 95

She warded her dreams once more, walking through the palace after the longest day of her life. The council had ended with the now-familiar argument about the possible candidates for Divine; it had come down to Leliana shouting at them to shut up (probably because Josie was wincing and rubbing her temples. Adhlea had noticed Leliana was highly protective of Josephine) to get the session to end.

Adhlea had thrown Gaspard a cold look before leaving. Adhlea was protective of Josie, as well; not to the extent of Leliana, certainly – but enough to feel that anger whenever someone caused her pain.

Now, she waited anxiously to feel Solas start to dream; when he did she realized he, too, was warded. She could still _feel_ his presence in the Fade.

She… _knocked_ on his consciousness. He opened the door for her.

It was what his rooms had been at Haven, pretty bare without any knickknacks; books and potions littered tables in what Adhlea could only guess to be ‘organized chaos’. It was only personal in that he had what he was working on displayed.

“If this is what your rooms in Skyhold look like,” Adhlea said, her tone dry, “it’s hardly a wonder you stay in the Rotunda most of the day.” She flashed him a teasing smile. Solas gave her a faint one as she crossed to his bed. “May I sit?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She sat next to him. “I wanted to dance with you,” she blurted after a moment of silence. “But… As you were announced to be my serving man and not my friend, I –“ she halted, wondering if she should continue. Before she could, Solas spoke for her.

“- it would not have been appropriate,” he finished for her. She nodded. He stood. Around them, the room changed, Adhlea standing just as she felt like she would fall. “Perhaps now would be a good time to do so, then,” he concluded, offering her a hand. Adhlea took it, realizing that he’d changed what she was wearing; no longer did she wear _both_ the cloak and dress, rather just the dress that fell to her feet, a perfect length for her to dance in. “The Fade reacts to memories and desires,” Solas murmured, placing his hands on her hips and allowing her hands to go onto his shoulders. “So…”

Adhlea watched with wide eyes as people appeared, humans dancing on the floor. Adhlea could not fully make out their faces, but it didn’t matter. Music started, slightly haunting as it echoed across a soundless space.

He took on hand off his shoulders and clasped it, drawing her in closer. The dance the night before Adhlea had remained a distance from Gaspard, meeting his eyes only so she wouldn’t have to be scared of tripping. Now, Adhlea stared at Solas’ face as she danced as close to him as she allowed herself, his eyes meeting hers with a thousand emotions in them she didn’t want to try to figure out. She searched his face, her eyes catching on the scar on his forehead.

Unbidden, she snorted, breaking the spell they’d been under as they danced alone.

“What is it?” he asked, a brow raising.

“You _could_ be twice my age,” she said, a smirk flitting across her face. “But not in the way you think,” she added, hastily as his other brow joined the first, high on his forehead. “They think I am older than I am, and… it’s slightly offensive, but I suppose I understand.”

“You act, most times, with the maturity of an older woman,” agreed Solas. “And on occasion, you _do_ look like you have seen things most have not. This attributes to any indication of age.”

“I look like I have perpetual baby-face,” Adhlea muttered, a term she’d heard from some of the servants.

Solas relaxed. “I don’t believe I know how old you are,” he admitted, sounding ashamed.

“Oh.” Adhlea realized that she really _hadn’t_ told him. “I’m twenty-three this past Guardian.”

His eyes widened. “I’m… _quite_ a bit older, then,” he said, sounding shocked.

Adhlea decided not to pry.

“Age does not matter with me,” she said, as he twirled her slowly. “Believe me when I say that I do not care about your age.”

The Fade around them changed, people vanishing to leave them alone on the false dance floor.

“I do not care about yours, either,” Solas murmured, his eyes flicking over her face. “I recalled a memory about the Qunari.”

“Hmm?” Why did he -?

“In Haven. You asked, once, if there was a memory I had of the Qunari.” Ah. Right. Adhlea had forgotten. “There’s a baker. She folds over the yeast, puts a sprinkle of sugar in the middle, and folds it again. And she smiles for that little act of disobedience.” Nothing monumental, but Adhlea smiled. “Adhlea…” Adhlea met his eyes at his tone, quirking an eyebrow to show she was listening. “Adhlea, after the Inquisition’s purpose in defeating Corypheus, what is it you plan to do?”

“I don’t know,” She admitted. “Perhaps… I don’t know. The Inquisition was a peace-keeping force, but… I was thinking… Skyhold is so very empty without others in it. It fell into disrepair because nobody lived in it for so long.” She closed her eyes, then opened them. “I was thinking about, when the Arlathvhen comes around… Inviting the elves back there.” She avoided his gaze. “I just… They’re pretty much alone, in the wilds. And yes, the clans would not be eager to gather in one place, but – would it not be easier to defend ourselves?”

She peeked at Solas, wondering what he was thinking. He looked at her, thoughtfully.

“Well, it isn’t a _terrible_ idea,” he hedged, “but I’ve no doubt that there would be more arguments from King Alistair and whomever rules Orlais.”

“True,” Adhlea nodded. “It’s _just_ an idea. Plus, I have no doubt that – Keeper or not – I will most likely be unwelcome at the Arlathvhen. There’s only to be _one_ Keeper per clan,” she explained, “and relating tales of the Inquisition to them would not be the _wisest_ course of action without concrete proof.”

“And perhaps telling them _Fen’Harel_ gave you the fortress would not settle well with them, I would imagine,” Solas said, rather dryly.

Adhlea thought for a moment, then snorted.

“Imagine the faces though,” she said, lightly. “Of course, they’ll still curse me out, try to cast me out. Probably why Keeper Deshanna decided to give Syven the name of Keeper as well – in a way to protect me.”

“You went to the last Arlathvhen, yes?”

Adhlea nodded. “I was ten,” she explained. “However, due to miscommunications between the clans and what happened at Kirkwall _and_ the clans, no location has been given for the next one.” Her eyes lit up. “You could come,” she offered. “You are proof, of a kind, that the Inquisition does some good.”

Solas grimaced. “As… _fascinating_ as it would be, I doubt my presence would help.”

“The presence of Clan Lavellan simply pisses them off anyway since Keeper Deshanna became Keeper,” Adhlea replied, dryly. “I seek to annoy _all_ my fellow Keepers and such.”

Solas chuckled at her statement. “You _do_ seem to prefer the way of words than the way of swords.”

“Ah, but at the Arlathvhen it is both swords _and_ words that come into play,” Adhlea replied, with a grin. “There has been no Arlathvhen in the last forty years that has not, at some point, come to blows. Why do you think Isanami withdrew from her position as Keeper twenty years ago?”

“Keeper Deshanna must have been only a year or so older than you when she became Keeper,” Solas muttered.

“And yet wiser beyond her years,” Adhlea replied. “Not that it helped much, though. Isanami only grew angry when she realized Keeper Deshanna did not help matters. Deshanna’s actions to change our clan have only served to anger _all_ the other elders of the clans; few have remained to trade with Lavellan because of Deshanna.”

“Is that why you lived so far from them?” inquired Solas. “I’d imagine living in Wycome was… _difficult.”_

“It was,” Adhlea murmured. “But to be truthful, I did not live in Wycome that much. Gaspard came for me after my fourteenth year. I had a few human friends that were not terrified of our clan, but even so. I did not see them much, only a few times after I went back for the summer.”

“Travelling to and from must have been hard,” Solas agreed.

“Not particularly,” Adhlea admitted. “It was the transition from living with servants to helping others. I learned _very_ quickly not to expect my clan to do the same as the servants did. It was… Odd, to realize that I had already grown used to wealth, that when I went back I forced myself into the mindset of someone who helped. I could not be selfish like the other nobles, and I could not expect the servants to like me. So I pretended, sometimes, I was one of them – I dressed as one, cooked as one, and allowed one other to take my place.”

“That… is interesting indeed,” Solas said, with a frown. “Did you have to do everything they said?”

“I _did_ have a few limits,” Adhlea admitted. “They were only allowed to pretend to be me for a day and a night, and they could not order me to die, kill, or maim myself or others. Also, they could not ruin my clothes because I had to keep them for events… And most of my clothes could not fit them. In turn, they had to complete a checklist that I had to do – mostly old reading and writing courses, because I could not speak nor read Common, and learn how to embroider.” Adhlea smirked at his face, which was expectant. “Of course, nearly all of them decided _not_ to be me again after the first or second time. They felt bored and annoyed by the whole experience.”

“Interesting,” Solas nodded. “What did they have _you_ do?”

Adhlea giggled. “Everything, at one point or another. Cleaning the stables, laundry… I once had to scrub the chateau floor from top to bottom when Calia got annoyed with me after I hired her.”

“She _does_ seem a bit overbearing,” Solas agreed.

Adhlea shrugged. “Calia seems to have been everywhere,” Adhlea mentioned. “She’s been in Ostwick and was even in Halamshiral when Celene made me Grand Duchess. I took her and her sisters from an awful lord; she had a son, though not of her own volition.”

Adhlea counted herself lucky. When Calia had been revealed to be with child, Adhlea had quietly offered to give her herbs to be rid of it if she desired it; Calia had considered it and later dismissed it. Elf-blooded human child or elf child, Calia had refused to kill the babe.

 _Would you have done so?_ Calia had asked of Adhlea.

Adhlea had tactfully not responded that it was, technically, well-within her right as she believed in furthering the _elven_ race, not the human one, but now… Now, if she had borne an elf-blooded human child – yes, _yes_ she would have kept it. No matter what it represented.

“I had heard about that,” Solas admitted. She frowned up at him. “I mean what you did for Miss Calia,” the elf corrected. “It was talked about upon the formation of the Inquisition and the revelation of your identity as the Masked Duchess.” Adhlea was about to speak, but Solas’ eyes narrowed, his attention drawing elsewhere. “I believe you have a visitor in your room, Adhlea.”

Adhlea sighed and stepped back from him.

“I suppose I’ll just go dissuade them from murdering me in my sleep.”

“No need,” Solas said, surprising her once more. “It is an ally of mine. I will do so; but it _is_ nearly morning.”

Adhlea found herself waking up, staring at the elf who was poised to kill her, unable to ask Solas what he meant by _he would take care of it._


	96. Chapter 96

Aelon was not surprised to find the Inquisitor asleep, nor was he surprised the wards around her kept dreamers from invading. He crept forward, soundlessly taking out a weapon to kill her. She was an unnecessary distraction.

She opened her eyes as he was ready to slide the blade across her throat. The Inquisitor stared at him, before her expression turned baleful.

“Are you on behalf of Fen’Harel?”

“You are unnecessary,” he said, his voice sharp. “You are needlessly stirring up things, disrupting his plan. You will be _silenced.”_

The Inquisitor’s red eyes glared at him.

“I am helping the People,” she replied to him. “I will continue doing so until I am dead.”

“You are _not_ of the People.” Aelon’s lip curled. “You’re a mere shadow of us.”

He had _centuries_ more experience than this _shadow child._

Yet that did not explain why he could not move.

His arm was heating up.

 _Fen’Harel_ sought him, _now?_

In his hesitation, the Inquisitor was looking around; Aelon pushed through the mark on his arm and smelled burning flesh. He had bound himself to the Will of Fen’Harel, and now the mark he had requested of Fen’Harel – to prove his loyalty to him, and made it certain he’d never betray Fen’Harel – was burning, as though he were _attempting_ to do so. Fen’Harel was aware of such a thing and demanded his attention _now._

He withdrew his arm with a grunt.

The Inquisitor reached over and yanked at his knee, tripping him onto her, the knife sinking into the armrest of the couch.

“What,” the _shemlen_ – who was supposed to be _sound asleep in the bed that the Inquisitor was not sleeping on_ – growled, his voice coming from _right_ behind Aelon, “is going on here?”

“This elf is trying to kill me,” the Inquisitor announced breezily. “I tripped him and he is sitting rather awkwardly on my abdomen. Will you please get off, and not attempt to kill me again?”

Aelon found himself yanked by his dark hair off of her.

“Gaspard!” the Inquisitor sounded disapproving. “Just knock him out and I’ll think on what to do with him.”

“You _cannot_ be serious,” the _shemlen_ said, sounding exasperated.

“I am.” The Inquisitor offered the _shemlen_ a small smile before it sharpened as she looked at Aelon.

Aelon fell into a dream, his windpipe being crushed by a hand. Dark, wild anger had tightened the Dread Wolf’s features, features only Aelon knew because of their shared history in Arlathan.

“If you attempt to harm the Inquisitor again,” the Dread Wolf hissed, his voice thunderous, “you will lose your life. _Am I clear?”_

Aelon’s eyes widened as the hand squeezed harder before relaxing.

“And I would dearly hate to kill you, Aelon.” Fen’Harel’s face relaxed. “However, I presume since you attempted to kill her that your job I assigned you is done.” Fen’Harel moved the hand from around Aelon’s neck, instead clasping it behind him. “If the Inquisitor allows you to live, your next mission will be seeing that she comes to no harm.”

Aelon opened his mouth.

“Killing her would undo much of the work I have done,” Fen’Harel said. “As you and I _both_ know, she holds the Anchor and therefore killing her would completely destroy _any_ chance of Arlathan’s return.”

Aelon kept quiet.

“If,” the Dread Wolf continued, “you join the Inquisition, you will act only as an acquaintance of mine. None that matter know my true identity yet.” Aelon met his eyes. “Am I clear, Aelon?”

Aelon bowed his head.

~:~

“Who’s the new guy?” Yenera asked Adhlea upon seeing the woman standing in the first room of the ensuite with a dark-haired elf with a braid.

“An assassin,” Adhlea said, sounding cheerful despite the gray morning outside. “He and Solas are friends.”

“ _Acquaintances,”_ the dark-haired elf bit out. Yenera rolled her eyes before she leaned into Adhlea’s space. Adhlea drew back, looking a bit weirded out.

“Did you get lucky last night?” Yenera asked, scowling.

“ _No,”_ Adhlea replied, her face gaining a bit of red. “I just had a nice dream!”

“Oooh, was it about Solas?” Yenera teased. “Did you call out his name?”

“Oh, for the love of – for your information, it was just a _dream,_ there was nothing sexy about it,” Adhlea said, looking cross before she paled a little. “I mean, it _did_ have something sexy in it but it _wasn’t_ a sexy dream!” She turned bright red as Yenera grinned.

“Oi, Solas! There was something _sexy_ in her dream!” Yenera turned to look at the mage other mage who was being glared at by the new elf.

“Was there, now?” he seemed disinterested.

“What if it wasn’t _you?”_ Varric snorted.

Solas offered Varric a dry look. “Then I suppose it must have been the ballroom.”

Yenera and Varric exchanged triumphant looks.

“Can you have sex in the Fade?”

Josephine’s voice, interested as it was, drew everyone’s attention even as Cullen dropped his sword with a clatter. Even Solas tilted his head.

“Probably,” Adhlea said, sounding mortified. “If you warded your dreams well enough, then yes – I presume so. It would still not be advisable.”

“Why not?” Josephine looked innocently curious. Adhlea just shrugged, hiding her crimson face. Josie turned to the only other Fade-Walker in the room. “Do _you_ know, Solas?”

“Desire demons,” Solas answered, almost immediately. “Or – spirits that have been twisted into desire demons. Those are the demons that might so easily slip into one’s dreams.”

“Are we ready to leave?” blurted Cullen. Yenera glanced at him. He was the one sporting the most red, apart from the hidden Inquisitor; looking around, Yenera realized she and Leliana seemed the most unaffected.

“Yes!” Adhlea jumped up, knocking into Yenera.

Josephine opened her mouth, but Leliana cleared her throat.

“Fade questions will have to wait,” Leliana said to her gently. “We’ve a ruler to decide.”

Josephine immediately nodded, standing and smoothing her skirts.


	97. Chapter 97

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presenting the ruler of Orlais!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those new people joining us, I hope you all know all of this has been pre-written, with changes being made at literally the last second.  
> THAT BEING SAID.  
> Some chapters are not re-written at all, but I may go back and make changes later on... Which hasn't happened yet, but hey. Always a chance.  
> Anyways. ENJOY~!  
> (AKA I write all this BS and then make changes that try to make it better at literally the last second.)

Instead of shouting and fighting, Adhlea listened. She kept her mouth shut even as Anora moved in, her stern words not getting through to any of them. She remained in there until lunch, completely and utterly silent. Her new bodyguard scowled and stood by her as they all bickered.

When Josephine shouted it was time for lunch to be served, the session broke up, Adhlea motioning to Anora.

“I need this to work,” Adhlea said to her. “I need my plan to work. I need them to argue about something.”

“Why?” Anora asked, as low as Adhlea murmured. “You’re going to support one of them, are you not?”

“No.” Adhlea shook her head. “None of them have good policies that would work separate.” Anora’s eyes widened. “Which is why I need them to argue tonight. I leave in the morning, so they cannot attempt to change my mind; especially with them listening.” Adhlea motioned to the guards. They’d spread the word.

“I see,” Anora nodded, drawing back. “It might not work the way you wish,” the woman warned.

“Oh, I know,” Adhlea smirked, wickedly. “But it _will_ work.”

So, as she sat and listened only hallway, she heard the beginnings of an argument start. Adhlea got ready to perform; if anything, Adhlea would put on an excellent show.

As Josephine winced as Celene bickered with Gaspard, Gaspard with Briala, and Briala with them _both,_ Adhlea stood.

“ _ENOUGH!”_

Her shout silenced all three of them and made Doshiel, drinking behind Anora’s chair, choke.

“Don’t say another word,” Adhlea said, walking in front of the three, her face as blank as it had been while facing that one lord back in Haven, what seemed like _years_ ago. “Ah!” she held up a finger at Celene’s outraged face and her attempt to speak. “You _will not interrupt me,_ Celene. You have asked me who I back, and I shall say this once. I will back _none_ of you separately.”

Even Gaspard started to look pissed. Briala’s eyes screamed _traitor_ at Adhlea.

Celene heaved in a breath.

“However, I must say that all _three_ of you, ruling together, would be best for Orlais.” The air went out of Celene with a _whoosh._ “You bicker about how your ways would be better; you do not seek which ways to pull a divided people _together._ Gaspard, with all due respect – you are a military mind. _Do_ something with it. Protect _Orlais,_ not just the area you rule. Briala – you’re a fucking amazing _spy_ master, second only to one. Use them to protect not only the nobles, but the small people. And Celene.” Adhlea stared at the Empress. “Use your maneuvering to not only protect the nobles, but the little people. Because the nobles? They simper and laugh and drink and backstab; the little people have to fight for what they believe in and _all of you_ just might have an uprising on your hands if you go too far, like you are _so close_ to doing.” Adhlea let her anger at them show on her face. “In other words, pull your fucking heads out of your asses, stop viewing the world as what it should give to you, and fucking _give_ to those who you’re supposedly ruling.” Adhlea took one step forward. “The Inquisition backs Celene, Gaspard, _and_ Briala as the rightful rulers of Orlais.”

With that, Adhlea imperiously turned and swept out of the room.


	98. Chapter 98

As they rushed early in the morning, under the cover of the light barely shining at dawn, Solas silently mulled over their actions. The nobles had seen her use magic, while she had claimed she was not a mage in Val Royeaux; there was bound to be some sort of backlash for that. As he did not yet know whom she had chosen to back, he could make no plans or contingencies.

Aelon was also a problem.

He assassin in question scowled at nothing as he waited on his horse, the others getting up and settling. Solas followed as Adhlea led the way out of the courtyard, their tired bodies adjusting to the feel of horses. Before long they’d all be half-asleep even as the horses ran.

The group garnered eyes as they left, Adhlea speaking to the guard at the entrance to the city. With a loud grinding, the gates opened to let them leave before returning to their position; Solas did not look back as they turned into a full gallop.

Long after they’d left Halamshiral, they stopped to let the horses drink before continuing. Aelon was glaring at Solas and at Adhlea, though more at Adhlea _than_ Solas. Solas ignored him.

“So.” Adhlea looked exhausted. “I chose all three of them.”

Solas was honestly surprised. “You back all three of them?”

“I had to.” Adhlea rubbed her face. “Celene was the only one I could have chosen alone; ruling with a military-minded man and a spymaster, she can be the false face.” She shrugged. “Or something. I suck at politics and I’m pretty sure my reasoning was redundant.”

“Interesting, but that gives _you_ access to the throne should you desire it,” Solas pointed out logically.

“Don’t, though. I’ve enough on my hands.” Adhlea offered him a tight smile.

“As long as you’re handling it,” Solas murmured. “How are you handling it?”

“Mmm. Good enough.” Adhlea shrugged. “Nothing important is on fire, I haven’t yet had the urge to burn Orlais to the ground, so…”

“Ah, yes, that’s good.” Solas looked around. “Why… did we leave quickly?”

“If we hadn’t, Celene would have come after me,” Adhlea admitted, wearily. “She didn’t last night because I faked being deeply asleep. If I waited, she probably would have dragged me into _another_ council session; being this far out this early makes it known we’re busy. Vivienne elected to remain for now, to alert me of any change.”

Solas had to admit not having Vivienne at Skyhold might be best.

“The horses are ready!” Yenera called.

Adhlea gave him a smile and walked off, back to her horse.

He spotted Aelon watching with a dark, deep scowl.

“What?” he asked the other, sharply and out of Adhlea’s hearing.

“What is her purpose?” Aelon questioned, murmuring lowly.

“Is it any of your business?” Solas tried not to make it sound like a threat, but he was protective of the redheaded elf.

“No,” Aelon said, his voice angry, his expression blank, “but if I might die for her rather than you, I would prefer knowing who I am dying for.”

~:~

Aelon was no stranger to Fen’Harel and his moods. He’d been there as long as he could remember – Fen’Harel had freed him first. Fen’Harel had freed _Aelon_ first.

First of all of slaves. Aelon owed Fen’Harel _everything._ Questioning him was – was beyond insubordination, and it could show Fen’Harel that he did not care for what he had done for him.

But Aelon just couldn’t reconcile one of the Evanuris with a clear goal – a goal Aelon did not know the entirety of – to this elf, who was protecting a shitty _shadow_ of Isera.

Even then – Aelon knew Fen’Harel’s moods because of those _centuries_ he’d remained loyal.

“You are dying for my Anchor,” was the automatic retort; but Fen’Harel’s eyes flickered with that lie. It was a lie, and Aelon realized it as Fen’Harel moved away.

Aelon’s mouth parted as the Inquisitor said something to Fen’Harel and he smiled, softy.

 _Void above and below,_ Aelon inwardly cried. His face was a mix of shock and horror; a rare combination. _He’s in **love** with the da’shemlen._

He wasn’t shocked that –

Okay, yes, he actually was entirely shocked that Fen’Harel could _love._ And horrified that he’d latched onto the _one woman_ he could not have, because whatever was planned for this _Inquisition_ surely did not have a happy ending for either of them….

….Right?

Fen'Harel walked his path with the intention of leaving it all behind. Maybe Aelon was a hopeless romantic (he had walked this world many times over, reading their stories and ignoring the world until Fen'Harel had made him come to this place for a job), but he was secretly hoping that the woman could make him happy.

Even if it was just for a little while.

So, he decided, choice or no choice, he’d endeavor to make sure she remained alive long enough to make him happy.

(But, _fuck,_ it was going to be hard keeping a _shemlen_ alive.

He was still pissed about his new job.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a piece of Elvhen language that I THINK would be translated correctly in the above chapter. I... made it up on the spot, but managed to recall what it was... actually it was pretty easy.
> 
> Da'shemlen: little shadow
> 
> I THINK it would be translated like this. I'm not positive. If someone could help me out on that front, that'd be awesome.


	99. Chapter 99

“Inquisitor!”

Adhlea just barely stepped into Skyhold when she was accosted by Mother Giselle.

“Yes, Mother Giselle?”

“Might we walk and talk?” the elderly woman questioned.

Adhlea nodded, pushing aside her own tiredness and following Giselle.

She followed Giselle into a part of Skyhold she didn’t know existed – an herbal garden. She could see people tending to royal elfroot growing in quite a few pots; one section seemed to be common herbs, another seemed to be lesser known and rarer; and the last with ultra-rare plants like royal elfroot.

“What is it you wanted to speak of, Mother Giselle?”

Giselle kept walking. “I wanted to speak of rumors that have upset some of the Chantry.” She stopped in the middle of the garden, in the crumbling patio. “You see, one faction sees that you have not stated your belief in the Maker as a heretic rising to claim Andraste as the head of a heretical movement. Others say that, as married as you are to the Grand Duke, you are naught but a poor Dalish elf with no regard to the Chantry.”

Adhlea felt her face heat up.

“With all due respect, Revered Mother Giselle –“

“Forgive me for interrupting,” the Revered Mother said, interrupting her. “I simply offer a solution to this, _I_ do not accuse you of heresy, Inquisitor. What I offer is simple. Allow an area of worship so those that are Andrastrian may worship the Maker.”

Adhlea let her words ring in her head.

“Of course,” Adhlea said, looking Giselle in the eyes as a smirk curled on her face. “I’ll have a space cleared for the Maker as soon as possible, Revered Mother.”

Surprise flickered on Giselle’s face.

“You would allow this… _easily?”_ the Revered Mother questioned.

Adhlea smiled. “But of _course,_ Revered Mother! Who am _I_ to deny the people their faith?”

Giselle’s eyes widened.

“Of course, I cannot simply deny the Dalish _their_ faith, if I am to be lenient with that of the Andrastrian,” Adhlea said, her smile still in place. “Nor can I deny our Avvar shaman.” Adhlea spread her hands. “Now, I have more pressing matters to attend to. If this conversation is over?”

Giselle nodded, a faint smile appearing on her lips and taking Adhlea aback for a moment before the elf turned away.


	100. Chapter 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy hundredth chapter! *claps* Hope you're still here, but I do not blame you if you're not! This is a really, really, weird-ass story.

“Champion.” Amund appeared in front of the woman whom had bested a false chieftain. The Lady of the Skies’ markings of challenge were given to those who answered challenges and followed the ritual of the Avvar of Raven Hold; Amund had seen what was to come through the Lady of the Skies’ green rift. Now, the Lady was healed, but the Lady wanted him here. So, here he remained.

The Champion Outsider jumped and looked at him from the place the low-landers knelt to. She looked comfortable in it, though perhaps she did not mean to. Amund wondered if she held a portion of Tyrdda Bright-Axe; elf or not, this woman’s soul was old and bright. He could not make out any significant features, but if one was to come to the surface, he was sure he would recognize the soul.

“Hello, Amund,” the Dalish elf smiled, a smile of teeth that was no threat, simply a smile. Amund rarely got offered such from the lowlanders. Normally he got yells and shouts.

“The Lady of the Skies foretells danger from another tribe.” Amund watched her blink.

“Oh?” The woman shoved her paper away and stood, stretching. Her bones made popping sounds. “Should we expect a force marching?”

“Not if the danger is cut at the roots,” Amund rumbled. “But they would likely not speak with any lowlander. I bring this to your attention, Champion, because you are unlike lowlanders. You have faced a chieftain and won against him.”

“And yet, I am still an outsider,” she reminded him, her red eyes boring into his brown. She wasn’t complaining, simply explaining.

“An outsider who carries a goddess-mark,” Amund replied, amusement flaring through him. She had asked him about the mark months previous, asking why it had not left her skin. “It is an approaching threat that we cannot ignore, Champion.”

The Champion stared at him for another moment.

“ _LELIANA!”_ The Champion’s bellow summoned another redheaded lady.

“No need to yell, Inquisitor. What is it?”

“I’ve finished my work for the day,” the Champion said, taking her eyes off of Amund’s. Amund blinked. “I’m taking Amund with me to see some Avvar about an approaching threat.”

“One we’ve not heard of?” questioned the redhead, her eyes narrowing on Amund’s.

“The Lady of the Skies says it is best to take care of it now and gain an ally,” Amund replied, matter-of-factly. He doubted they’d take it seriously; they would try to insist that someone else could do it.

The second redhead switched her gaze from Amund’s to the Champion.

For a moment, there was silence.

“I’ll tell the other Inner Circle members,” the other redhead said after a moment. “Are you taking Solas?”

“No,” the Champion shook her head. “Solas… is unneeded here. I do not need to make a statement… But Cassandra would be advisable. Blackwall. Oh, and maybe Dorian!”

“Cassandra, Blackwall, the Iron Bull, and Dorian.” Leliana nodded.

“I –“

“The Qunari has been drinking too much,” Leliana interrupted. “Making him go out will give us a chance to stock up.”

The Champion nodded her head.

“Fine,” she said. “Tell them we ride at dawn.” The Champion turned to Amund. “Is that acceptable?”

Amund nodded.

~:~

Adhlea led the group of six out of Skyhold before relinquishing the lead to Amund.

“So, Bull.” Adhlea turned to the giant Qunari. “Why have you been drinking half our liquor supply? You know Doshiel drinks the other half; this leaves none for _me.”_ She was being playful, but Bull didn’t seem to get that – or, if he did, he didn’t really care about that at the moment.

“I’m gonna have to tell you eventually,” the giant Qunari muttered. “I met the Ariqun in the Hinterlands. She said she’s gonna have a _task_ for me soon. Meaning, I’m required to be there for it.”

“Hmm.” Adhlea pursed her lips. “Did this Ariqun tell you anything else I’m allowed to know?”

“Just that _you’re_ supposed to be there,” Bull replied, grumpily.

Adhlea rolled her eyes. _Of course I am. Apparently I’m supposed to be ordered around by everyone._

“Where are we even headed?” Cassandra questioned. “I know it is to another Avvar hold, but _where?”_

“We should arrive there by midday tomorrow,” Amund announced from his horse. “If we do not run into any unsavory creatures.”

“The Frostback Basin,” Adhlea called back to the other warrior. She glanced over at Blackwall. “Who knows, perhaps some of the folk there can out-drink you, Blackwall.”

“Speaking of drinks, perhaps _you_ would be interested in a drinking game, Inquisitor,” Blackwall said, tossing a look at her. “One night, you and I try to out-drink each other.”

Adhlea snorted. “Only if this turns out to be a visit from the depths of the Void,” she agreed with a winning smile.

“With your luck, my dear?” Dorian poked her from his horse. “You’ve just made a noose around your neck.”

Adhlea winced. “Probably,” she agreed. “How about this, then – right before we get to Skyhold we can have that contest, yes?”

“Why not _at_ Skyhold?” Blackwall wondered.

“Well, then I’d have to refuse,” Adhlea admitted. “Can’t have the Herald of Andraste drunk.”

“No, that would spark all types of rumors,” Cassandra agreed darkly. “Rumors the Inquisition cannot have; a drunk Inquisitor in her own hold? No. Would be best to keep it away from Skyhold.”

“You usually take Solas with you,” Dorian said, steering the conversation away. “Why not this time?”

Adhlea winced. “Well… I had a conversation with Felix, and it turns out Solas has been _very_ busy catching up on work he missed. It’s okay, we can afford to take a break from each other… Plus, when I sleep I’ll probably see him.” She smiled, thinking of –

“ _That_ was too much information,” Cassandra muttered.

“What?” Adhlea frowned and thought – the tips of her ears burned red. “Oh, for – that _isn’t_ what I meant! I’m a dreamer now!”

It occurred to her that Dorian and the others probably didn’t know.

“You’re a _somniari?!”_

She glanced at Dorian. He looked a mixture of fearful and respectful.

“I’ve only been one since my Keeper gave me my magic back,” she uttered, ducking her head in embarrassment, the tips of her ears turning redder. “It helps. Mostly Solas just helps me refine my magic. It’s got _nothing_ to do with sex,” she added, throwing Cassandra an annoyed look. “Solas and I talk, and that’s _it.”_

“Sounds more like you’ve got a teacher-student relationship with him,” Blackwall muttered. “With kissing. And no sex.”

Adhlea pursed her lips… _I don’t know how they’d react… but… ah, fuck this. I know Amund won’t say anything._

“It’s like he’s a _monk,”_ Adhlea burst out, turning to her fellow travelers. “I have _given_ hints that I want to sleep with him, but it’s either that I’m not forward enough or he’s a _eunuch,_ and I’m already married to one!”

Her companions just stared at her.

“Oh…” winced Dorian. “Have you made it _exceptionally_ clear you want sex?”

Adhlea turned to Dorian. “I don’t _just want sex!”_ She threw her hands up. “He teaches me something while we’re sleeping, he gives me this _look_ that I don’t really know what to think of, and – and –“ She let her hands fall. “He backs off. He gives me polite smiles and it’s so like what he gives other people that it _grates on my nerves._ It’s like – it’s like he’s punishing himself for something, and I’m wondering if _us_ is real, or maybe it’s just me and he’s playing with me or –“ Adhlea shrugged, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t just want _sex,_ I want to stop _doubting_ and I want him to _tell me if I’m wrong.”_

Bull whistled. “Damn, that’s complicated.”

“He’s probably hiding something,” Blackwall said, unexpectedly. “Probably something he thinks you’ll not like.”

“So, like you?” Cassandra questioned, her voice dark.

Blackwall blanched.

“Don’t point fingers,” Adhlea snapped, “because we’re not talking about Blackwall. We’re talking about Solas.”

“Hate to say it, Boss,” Bull rumbled, “but your problems aren’t something _I_ can offer advice on.”

“Maybe a spell that asks absolute truth?” Dorian offered.

“I am not giving my… significant other reason to hate me, so thanks but no thanks, Dorian.”

“Well. I’m out of ideas.”

“Perhaps the two of you should go out someplace,” Cassandra offered, at length.

“Considering that we talk in the Fade – no. Won’t work.” Adhlea shook her head. “Plus, I’m needed at Skyhold when I’m not busy doing this, so… Oh, and he never leaves the Rotunda, and we need to be _extremely discreet_ , so again. No. Won’t work.”

“Sic Enaste on him,” Blackwall offered.

“Enaste refused.”

“Wait,” rumbled Amund. Adhlea blinked and turned forward, looking at the Avvar man. “Wait for him to tell you. Be open to what he says.”

“I _am,”_ Adhlea muttered with a scowl. “I have _been_ waiting.”

The most open he’d ever been was… at _Halamshiral,_ the night they’d danced in the Fade. Adhlea sighed, slightly depressed. She didn’t just want _sex,_ as she’d said; she wanted more than the stolen moments in the Fade. Most times, he was teaching her stances to help with her throwing knives; using magic in the Fade while dreaming invited trouble, so when they _did_ do that he warned her by courier to step up protections around her room. Even then, it was normally how to create variations of certain wards and runes.

And yes, she knew having sex in the Fade was inadvisable for a number of reasons, but for Andruil’s _sake,_ she was a flesh-and-blood woman!

She wasn’t saying Solas _wasn’t_ flesh and blood, it just – _ugh,_ she was just so tired of him backing off and being _polite._ It hurt.

And… and to be honest, it just reinforced any suspicions she’d been having since Halamshiral.

She couldn’t act on them, nor could she tip him off. She had to act like everything was fine, and the few moments she’d asked in a curious manner about his life, or his goals… He’d deflected.

He’d mention something vague, then change the subject. And Adhlea couldn’t afford to let her suspicions into the Fade, so… Problems among problems.

Also, she was certainly _not_ cut out for legitimate spy work because when he smiled at her, even if it was a small one… She felt like she was someone he saw for who she was, rather than who everyone else thought she was.

She was _Adhlea_ to him. And she really, _really_ didn’t want to give that up.


	101. Chapter 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO.
> 
> First things first. I have added a basic image of Adhlea to her profile on my blog.It's really terrible, because as I said I don't actually know how to import stuff, but it's there. Go check out her most basic image.   
> Secondly, I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED THE ENTIRE FIRST STORY. I'm NOT GOING TO TELL YOU HOW LONG IT IS.  
> Thirdly, I very CLEARLY do not have a regular update schedule. I CANNOT promise one, but I can say I will attempt to post one chapter per week. I will post a couple more chapters in the coming days but I will not be mass-posting. I have been told by a certain friend who follows me that mass updates at like 3 in the morning is a shitty thing to do.  
> That... and I usually stop after like 4 chapters... Copying and pasting is so boring compared to actually writing...

Thane Svarah Sun-Hair awaited the leader of the lowlanders who dared enter her territory without permission in her hold.

“Thane,” one of the hunters said, rushing to her. “One of Raven Hold has accompanied the lowlanders and an elf.”

Svarah nodded. “Bring them to me,” she ordered. Her own shaman had told of the one of the Ravens; his presence was of no surprise to her.

The hunter nodded his head and left. Svarah leaned forward as he returned not minutes later, the Raven’s Hold shaman standing _behind_ the elf. She held herself like a lowland kneeler’s ruler, her face one of zero expressions. Svarah looked over her, latching onto the uncovered arm.

“Thane Svarah Sun-Hair,” Svarah announced with zero hesitation. “Stone-Bear Hold greets you, Sky Champion. It is strange to see an elf among the lowlanders.”

The Champion offered her a smile. “It was not by choice, Thane Sun-Hair.” The elf inclined her head. “I am the Inquisitor of Skyhold, the mountain fortress.”

Svarah tilted her head. “Aye. I’ve heard of you from the augurs. They did not tell whether you would be an elf. A Dalish one, at that.” She gestured to her staring people. “They’ve rarely seen elves, never a Dalish.”

The elf nodded, her dark red eyes flicking over the group.

“Why are you and your lowland allies here without permission?” Svarah asked, having no need to temper herself. Avvar do not waste time.

“I don’t know,” the elf admitted, casting a look at the Avvar of Raven Hold. “Amund showed us here. He says that there is danger here… and an ally.” The elf shrugged.

Svarah let an eyebrow rise.

“You… _followed_ him to a hold that wasn’t his own?” Svarah questioned. “On no words but his own?”

“Yes?” The elf shrugged again.

This elf… was very strange. Lowlander or not, the Avvar weren’t… _trusted._ Svarah could see the other lowlanders in the group shifting and warily watching them; even the grumpy Qun was twitchy. And yet, the elf woman was not at all twitchy; in fact, she looked near at home in this hold.

“Why would you trust one of us, lowlander?”

“Amund has been very helpful,” the elf said. “He helps us hunt, speaks to the Lady of the Skies, and advises us on what the future holds.”

“I do very little,” Amund said, his voice rumbling. “The Champion allows me to stay because I do not make noise.”

The elf looked embarrassed. “In my defense,” the elf muttered, “you _are_ really helpful when you do help.”

Svarah snorted.

“You have guest-rights in our lands, Lady Champion,” Svarah said. “If you help us search for our hold-beast.”

“Your hold-beast is missing?” Amund narrowed his eyes even as Svarah heard the woman mutter, “My name is Thalia.”

“The Jaws of Hakkon are nearby,” Svarah replied. “We hold a treaty with them; even though they seek to awaken Hakkon Wintersbreath, we hold to our oath of peace. We can do nothing but have someone search; someone who is not known in these lands.”

“Alright,” the elf nodded. “I will do it.”

Svarah watched her turn, not asking what beast the hold held as their revered animal; Amund of Raven Hold remained where he was.

“Lady Champion was given the Frostbacks,” Amund said after a pregnant silence. “She is well-aware that the Avvar remain in it.”

The inquisitor stiffened. Clearly, she had sought to hide that particular information.

“Oh?” Svarah demanded. “You think this land is yours?”

“No, Thane,” the elf said, turning to Svarah. Her allies tensed in response. “I leave the Frostbacks to govern themselves. It is because I knew you would react similarly that I did not speak of my given title. I am not like the others, Thane Sun-Hair – please, remember that my kin have been forced from their lands, quite similar to your kinsmen in the past.” A bitter smile slid on the woman’s face. Svarah narrowed her eyed for a moment, then judged her to be truthful.

“I hear you,” Svarah settled on saying. “You have my respect, Lady Champion.”

Many lowlanders had presumed to think such things about the Avvar. They labeled the Avvar as savage and unruly; yet Svarah had heard from histories when she was a child about the lowlander abuse of elves. Svarah herself had never actually seen an elf. If she hadn’t seen the ears, she might have thought that this was a really small and possibly defective human.

Now that she was revealed to be an elf, well. Still small.

She nodded to her.

The elf inclined her head before walking out.

~:~

Bram Kenric glanced to Lace Harding.

“Are you certain she’s here?”

Harding smiled. “Usually she finds her way to wherever I am. It’s strange.”

“Thane Sun-Hair granted us guest-rights,” a female voice said, loudly, “so long as we find your bear, Storvacker. To do so, we need a few more people. Would you be so kind as to let us pass?”

Harding jumped up as a horse snorted, voices too low for Bram to hear muttering something. Then hoofbeats grew closer.

Around the bend where they were barred from passing, a horse with a regal-looking woman on it sat. Her face was covered in elvhen markings – _he was staring at the Inquisitor,_ the _elvhen_ Inquisitor! _This_ was a notation for the history books, indeed.

“Inquisitor!” Lace strode up to her as she slid off her mount. “Nice to see you!”

“Are you certain you don’t use magic, Scout Harding?” The Inquisitor looked a bit shocked at the scout.

“It’s _Lace,_ Inquisitor.” Bram’s eyes widened as the scout was _flirting_ with the Inquisitor. _Surely –_

“Forgive me, _Lace,”_ the Inquisitor _purred_ , her eyes lowering. The Seeker woman behind her rolled her eyes in a very obvious way.

“You’re forgiven,” Lace cheekily said. “Now, shall we get down to business?” She _grabbed the Inquisitor’s hand_ and dragged her closer to Bram. “This is Bram Kenric, on loan from the University of Orlais.”

“Oh. An Orlesian.” She smiled coolly at him.

“I’m here to find whatever remains of the Inquisitor Ameridan,” Kenric blabbed, offering his hand. “It’s _lovely_ to meet you, I’m just here to settle the matter whether Ameridan was an elf or not.”

Kenric had no idea how to address the Inquisitor.

“And if Ameridan was an elf?”

An… _unexpected_ question.

“Well…” Kenric shrugged. “I’ll either be beheaded or my tenure will be cut off. Either way, knowing the race of the first Inquisitor doesn’t matter to me, I just want to know what _happened_ to him!”

The Inquisitor scrutinized him. “If I were to give you an order, would you follow it if it meant you live?”

Bram blinked. “I… suppose so?” he guessed. “I mean, I don’t really fight. Colette does, but she prefers her studies. So yes. I would.”

Her face blank, the Inquisitor stared at him for a longer moment before a smirk slid across her lips.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, even if it’s temporary, Professor.” She took his hand and shook it. He felt like he’d passed a test, even as he was still confused as to what the test had been.

Bram smiled even as she let go and turned to her companions.

“Where to first, Boss?”

The Inquisitor glanced at Harding even as Bram floundered at the Qunari man’s appearance. Colette gawked, too. It wasn’t often that a _Qun_ was seen… well, _anywhere._

“You wouldn’t happen to have noticed if a bear was taken anywhere?”

Harding smirked. “I did,” she said in a sing-song tone. “Well, actually, I know where the bear is. I didn’t do the footwork – sadly – but some spies of the Inquisition noticed.”

The Inquisitor’s expression turned dry. “Should you see any of them, tell them the Inquisitor requests for them to report back to Leliana that they are to remain away from Avvar holds.”

Harding nodded, her smile dying.

“Is something wrong, Inquisitor? Something with you and your lover?”

_The Inquisitor had a LOVER?_

“Unfortunately, yes,” the Inquisitor groaned… before her eyes widened. “Does _all_ of Skyhold know Solas and I are -?”

“Yes,” Harding said, patting the Inquisitor’s clothed arm. “Yes. _Everyone knows.”_

The Inquisitor groaned.


	102. Chapter 102

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, here's another chapter.  
> Again - let me be clear. I have NEVER played the DLC for the Deep Roads or the Jaws of Hakkon.   
> I mean, I did watch a couple playthroughs on Youtube, but... eh, I actually wanted to skip over most of this one. It's not that I don't like it - I actually enjoyed watching it - but I have a far more interesting arc ahead :D Enjoy this arc's choppiness (unfortunately it IS a bit choppy here and there...)

They had _found_ Storvacker, but the only problem they were having was taking Storvacker _out_ of the cage. The bear was choosing not to follow them. Could be because of the Hakkonites constantly attacking them, could be because Adhlea was a fire mage – Adhlea didn’t know, nor did she care.

Adhlea waved her hand. Fireballs erupted towards the Hakkonites, lighting them on fire. She ran forward, hearing the professor’s frightened shriek; Adhlea heard Bull’s wicked laughs as he swung his axe around. An arrow thudded next to her head. Adhlea took one of her knives and threw it, her aim a little off but she managed it.

She nocked an arrow, her ethereal bow shimmering into existence around her smaller staff; fire danced down the arrow as she loosed it. She jumped, dodging another arrow; Adhlea kept up the barrage.

“ _Adhlea!_ Cass needs help!”

Adhlea slid the short staff in her sleeve. Casting a barrier, she drew out her other staff.

Twirling it and slamming it on the ground, lightning sparked and hit several of the enemies. Adhlea took a deep breath before doing this next one, doing what Solas said and _visualizing it._ She drew the Fade into her and made it do what _she_ wanted in this world.

The sound of crackling met her ears.

She opened her eyes. Fire had erupted around Cassandra, in a perfect circle. Adhlea dug into what reserves she had to extend that circle, killing them – flames ignited their bodies once more as Dorian commanded them, his own eyes glowing with intensity.

Adhlea broke the circle for a moment, for Cassandra to step out, before Adhlea took the fire into her own hand, a large ball of powerful flames hissing and spitting.

Her eyes watering, the elf turned to look at the Avvar on top of the ice wall.

She threw the ball of flame at the ice wall, thinking even _that_ would destroy it.

It hit with a shuddering _boom._ Teeth rattling, Adhlea watched as the smoke cleared.

To her dismay and confusion, the ice did not break.

“Impenetrable ice. _Lovely,_ just what one needs,” Dorian muttered. “Hurry and grab the damn bear!”

“Damn bear is following! Let’s retreat!” Blackwall shouted, Storvacker following. Adhlea back-tracking for a moment before tripping.

She went down, her head slamming on the ground. She didn’t scream as instant blackness covered her.

~:~

“Where’s Thalia?” Cassandra looked around, searching vigorously.

“Not here!” Blackwall called ahead. “If she got lost, she’ll find us soon! _Come on!”_

“You guys go ahead!” Cassandra growled, doubling back. The Seeker stopped, ducking behind a rock wall. She peeked around the wall.

“She’s a mage,” one of the Hakkonites said. “Waking him will be easier to do with more energy.”

“Yeah, but –“

A spray of blood.

“Any _other_ objections?”

Cassandra swore as they picked the unconscious Inquisitor up before slipping back to their companions. The Inquisitor had a habit of being the _one person_ that got hurt; and she didn’t like it when Cassandra did the whole ‘mother hen’ thing – this, right here, was why Cassandra _did_ it.

“Find her?” Dorian asked, looking pale.

“I did,” Cassandra bit out. “The Hakkonites intend to use her as a sacrifice to wake whatever they are trying to wake.”

“Let’s “ the Iron Bull began, only to shut up as Cassandra held her hand up.

“We cannot,” she said, simply. “We charge in there without help, we are screwed. We do not know the layout, nor can we just rush in there. We do that and they might think she is useless and kill her.”

~:~

Syven rolled his eyes at Josephine’s explanation. “She probably just wanted to get out of paperwork.” He headed into the Rotunda, tossing an apple at Solas. Solas caught it, arching a brow at him. “You’ve not eaten since she left. Worried?” he bit into his own apple.

“A bit,” the dreamer admitted. “But she is _very_ capable of holding her own in a fight.”

“And you helped with that,” Syven nodded. “So why are you being a prick to her?”

Solas’ brows knit. “I am not,” he said, sounding confused.

“No offense,” Syven said, “but you kind of are. You and her spend practically every moment asleep _together,_ and she’s always frustrated in the morning. She hasn’t said as much, but don’t think I won’t kick your ass.”

Solas stared at him, his expression closed off. “I have my reasons for not giving in to her advances.”

Syven’s own brows shot up. “Damn,” he said with a chuckle. “Sis is trying to actually entice you into sex? Bold.”

“What?” Doshiel called from above.

“Adhlea’s trying to sex Solas up in the Fade!” Syven called up.

“Hot _damn!_ That _is_ bold!”

“Whatever do you mean?” Solas looked puzzled, and a bit flushed. Syven refrained from smirking.

“Sis hasn’t had sex with another person. _Willingly,_ that is,” Syven added under his breath. Seeing the twitch Solas gave, he was _well_ aware. _Interesting._ “To even give _hints_ must mean she’s serious. Hell, she and Syghimye had a fling, but she ended it when Syghimye asked her if she was willing to take it further.” Of course, that might’ve been because Adhlea was also getting married, though Syven didn’t like to pry into his sister’s sex life. _That_ was gross. Syven rolled his shoulders. “If _she’s_ the one saying she wants to go further, you two should talk about it.”

“I –“ Solas set the apple down. “I have my own reasons for not wanting to go further.”

Syven tilted his head. “Is it ‘cause you’re an Ancient elf?” Alarm flashed over Solas’ face. “Relax. I’m certain Adhlea hasn’t noticed it because she’s super busy. You’ve got this ‘ancient elf wisdom’ thing down. But if it _is,_ you should let her know.” Syven shrugged. “I’m not going to give you relationship advice, because I’m fucking a human _and_ a Qunari, but… If you want it to last, there cannot be many secrets between you.”

He nodded at the ancient elf, then looked at the mural.

“Nice work,” Syven said, at the image of his sister.

He moved past it, heading out, his mind racing.

Solas loved her. But… perhaps he also _worshipped_ her. Maybe that was a bit of a stretch, but Syven didn’t want to see his sister hurt.


	103. Chapter 103

Ameridan Ghilan opened his eyes, immeasurably weakened. His staff clattered to the ground as more energy fled his body. The First Inquisitor noticed another elf, laying on her side and getting energy pulled out of her.

He could practically _feel_ Hakkon stirring.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” the elf said as Ameridan saw spots, dragging herself up with effort. “It’s nice to see… you’re alive.”

“Indeed,” Ameridan said, blinking.

“And you’re a mage,” the elf grinned, her arms wavering. “This… Is going to be a story to tell my Inquisition.”

Her words brought no clarity; they made no sense.

“I do not understand,” he admitted. Realization flitted over her face, before a sad smile crossed her features.

“Inquisitor,” she said, her voice gentle, “it has been _eight hundred years_ since you were last heard from.”

Ameridan reeled.

“And… what of Telana?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I don’t know,” the elf whispered, looking down. “I don’t know what happened to her. Was she your lover?”

He nodded, numb. “She was a dreamer.”

“Then,” the elf said, meeting his eyes. “I will search for her memories while I still have the energy.”

She closed her eyes.

Ameridan lunged, catching the other as she dropped like a stone.

Brief blackness swam in his vision, but he breathed through it. Energy doubled off of her.

 _She was in the Fade._ That meant… she was a dreamer, too.

He looked around. Humans – Avvar – were watching them with sneers.

The older mage felt something smooth under his fingers. Daring a glance down, he saw a small staff. Too small to be much use.

~:~

_“Telana!”_

Adhlea shouted the name into the Fade, thinking of that woman who had been with Ameridan long ago in Skyhold.

 _There._ Adhlea could feel the connection to her body growing thin as she traveled the Fade. A spirit was half-way in the Fade, half in the waking world.

 _I… she… am the one you call,_ the spirit murmured.

Adhlea grasped the spirit’s form and yanked her back into the Fade.

The world dissolved.

_“Telana! You **cannot** leave your child,” an elf growled._

**_I am not leaving Ameridan at the mercy of a DRAGON._** _“I’m sorry, Keeper. But I cannot just_ leave _Ameridan alone,” Telana replied, turning and running, heedless of the cries of the child. Nehnisa was better off without her, if Ameridan was not here._

_She fell into the Fade, courtesy of a strong sleeping potion. **I just want to make sure he did not die.** Telana woke up starving and thirsty. **Please, I just wanted to find him. You have to help me find him.**_

Adhlea had enough of a presence to realize the spirit was talking to her.

“I found him.” She was no longer inside the woman. Disoriented, she shook her head. “I found him, Telana. You can rest now.”

The spirit looked a lot like Telana, now.

Something sparked in her hand.

**_Take my gift. Keep him alive, I beg you._ **

The spirit dissolved.

~:~

Cassandra had little patience with whatever Kenric was going on about.

“So, there’s two shrines,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes. “It matters not. I think we should find –“

She was interrupted.

“It’s Ghilan’nain.” Dorian looked smug as Kenric gaped, staring at the Tevinter like he’d grown a sixth head. “Ghilan’nain, mother of the halla.”

“Ah, yeah. Syven has her markings, doesn’t he?” The Iron Bull stared at her. “Looks like a horned lady.”

“Well, she _is_ mother of the halla,” Dorian said. “Legend has it that a hunter Andruil cursed wounded Ghilan’nain by blinding her and stabbing her. Out of remorse, Andruil turned her into a halla, but – she appears to be a woman with halla _horns,_ not a complete halla.”

“Weird, but I’d totally do that,” the Iron Bull rumbled.

Instead of looking offended, Dorian snorted. “Of course you would. Much like, I believe, Syven would.”

“Nah, he seems to have a limit to what he’ll fuck. I think he’d draw the line at a hot chick with horns.”

“How do you know this?” inquired Colette, the professor’s assistant.

“Oh, we’re fucking an elf,” Bull said, motioning to him and Dorian.

“True,” the suddenly red-faced Tevinter man said.

“Huh.” Colette looked uninterested. “It’s a pre-Chantry statue of Andraste, too.” She turned to the other statue.

“Well, the stories say Ameridan had an elven lover, so perhaps this was in order to please her.”

“NONE OF THIS HELPS US GET PAST THAT ICE WALL,” Cassandra loudly proclaimed. “Where the Inquisitor might be getting tortured or killed or –“ She did not dare finish that.

“No, even the Hakkonites wouldn’t touch one they consider an outsider,” Colette said. “The Inquisitor is probably safe, even if she has Avvar markings, like I’ve heard.”

“She does,” Cassandra said. “And she will kill _all_ of us from the grave if we do not hurry.”

~:~

“Amund.”

Amund blinked to see the Champion standing in his dream.

“Are you the Lady of the Skies?” he asked, seriously.

“No,” the elf woman said with a shake of her head. “I, er, managed to get captured. Unfortunately. So, there’s a giant dragon being fed energy from two mages. How do we stop – or slow – this transfer?”

Amund considered her request.

“Close yourself off from the Fade,” he suggested. “Though, the Hakkonites might kill you, so I would not do that. The only other option would be to possibly rip out its heart before it awakens.”

“But, again,” the elf said with a strained smile, “the Hakkonites might kill me.”

“Probably,” agreed Amund.

“Oh. Thanks for the help!”

The Champion vanished.


	104. Chapter 104

Ameridan’s energies were leaving ever-faster as the Avvar mages chanted. The mage next to him stirred; Ameridan had, with immense effort, set her against one of the rocks nearby and now leaned next to her on the same rock.

“Telana passed away after searching for you almost endlessly.”

Her voice was quiet.

“She made it near here,” the mage whispered, “and she died, because she swore she would not eat or drink until she found you.”

“I told her _not_ to,” Ameridan said, forcing the words out, a miserable feeling in his heart. His love was gone because she was a stubborn woman; and what of their child? What of Nehnisa? She had grown up without him and Telana.

“Well, us Dalish girls don’t listen well.”

He glanced to her as her hot palm touched his hand. Her magic flared, her eyes warning him to be silent about it.

“They’re coming for me,” she murmured. “We just got to stay alive that long.”

“Who?” he wondered.

“My Inner Circle,” the other elf said, giving him a shy smile. “I’m the current Inquisitor – the _second_ Inquisitor.”

“Ah.” Ameridan leaned his head back, focusing on pulling his energy back, conserving it. “I give you my condolences, little one. I am, however, glad to see Orlais and the Dalish have not weakened.”

Laughter made him flinch, as loud as it was.

“Oh, sorry,” she snorted. “But since you vanished, our relations with Orlais went downhill.”

Ameridan winced. “How bad?”

“Oh, Orlais led an Exalted March on the People,” the elf snorted. “And promptly struck all mention of your being an elf from records. All things elvhen were struck from records.”

“That’s… offensive,” Ameridan said, anger stirring.

“Oh, yes. And that’s not the half of it,” the elf said. “My Keeper made me marry an Orlesian Grand Duke.”

Ameridan sighed. “Why?” It came out in a _are you messing with me_ kind of way.

“To help the People,” the elf said. “By the way, I’m Adhlea Thalia Lavellan.”

This time, _Ameridan_ gave a chuckle.

“Mythal’enaste, I am surprised that clan lasted for that long,” he rasped.

“Same,” agreed the Lavellan girl.

A breath hissed out of the dragon next to them.

“Ameridan,” the elf said, her voice shaky, “did that dragon just breathe?”

“Yes, Lady Lavellan.” Ameridan moved to look at it. “The dragon just breathed.”

“Keeper.” The mage’s hand pressed on his as she shifted. “I am the second Keeper of Clan Lavellan, ward and kin of Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan.”

She brought out her small staff.

“I’m also,” she said, sweat beading on her forehead, “a fucking _Knight Enchanter.”_

“You are too far away,” Ameridan protested, thinking –

She sighed as the image of a bow appeared around it.

“Some people actually _have_ imagination,” the woman replied. “I’ll give the dragon my energy. Might be our ride out of here.”

“You’ve no –“

She drew it back, a shaft of magic appearing.

“We should get on the dragon,” She murmured.

Ameridan’s brows shot up. “You,” he said, decidedly, “are utterly insane.”

“By the time I fire this fucking bow,” the woman snarled at him, her voice low, “we’ll either be drained or dead. _Get on the fucking dragon,_ Ameridan!”

Her tone made it clear she wasn’t taking a _no_ for an answer.

Ameridan considered, then he followed her instruction, throwing himself onto the dragon; he inserted himself on one of its spines, very carefully.

“Hey – what are they –“

The one who’d spoken died. Ameridan turned his head to see her drawing back another arrow, this one glowing at the tip.

She fired it. It exploded upon contact with the ground. She threw herself on the dragon, ahead of Ameridan.

“You want my energy, Hakkon Wintersbreath?” She flattened her body on the dragon. “Then _take it!”_

The stasis spell shattered, the sound grating on Ameridan’s ears. With a _snap,_ Ameridan felt his magic reassert itself; no longer was Hakkon Wintersbreath taking his magic.

The elf above him grunted, somehow still awake. And alive.

~:~

“You are okay with us _killing_ your god?” Svarah glared at the ‘Seeker’ and turned to Amund.

“None but the elves have been interested about hearing of our gods,” shrugged the taller male.

Svarah snorted. _I am not surprised._ The thane tilted her head.

“Even gods must die to be reborn,” Svarah replied, shortly. “Now, we will gather our men. You must break the ice –“

The world shuddered. A sound rent the air, horrible as it made all cringe.

Silence.

Then –

Svarah’s breath hitched at hearing the next sound. The sound of an enraged god.

Hakkon Wintersbreath had broken free.


	105. Chapter 105

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I did re-read this and... I don't know. I don't actually remember when I wrote this part. Just... Read and review?

Adhlea gasped as the dragon landed roughly on the ground, ice raining down on her.

“I need to grab my staff!” Ameridan shouted. Adhlea turned, seeing him slide down –

A vibration shook the dragon under her. Adhlea attempted to stand –

The world shattered again, the dragon roaring under her. The beast she’d awoken screamed in rage; Adhlea grit her teeth and started to carefully climb; the head of the beast moved. Adhlea stilled when she smelled foul breath.

She didn’t look, instead moved a bit faster. She nearly lost her balance, but revered even as the dragon attempted to shake her off. The fire elf held on; then the dragon jumped up.

Adhlea clutched the god tighter. There was something distinctly _evil_ about this. A sense that she realized was only attuned to _demons._ The mage shuddered as it continued flying, but kept one arm clutched onto the spike.

She looked at the eye closest to her. She scrambled up onto the dragon’s head, crouching to keep herself from blowing off. The dragon shook –

She stabbed its eye.

The dragon began to fall, a horrible screech falling from its mouth; Adhlea’s stomach lurched. She cast a barrier just as the dragon flipped.

Her hands, sweaty, slipped free.

She screamed as she started to fall through the air.

Something clamped over her right arm.

She screamed louder as it was yanked, clutching onto the nearest surface to keep her arm from being ripped off.

(Later, she’d realize that it was only by her earlier barrier that her arm hadn’t been torn off…)

The world had stopped falling; the mage could only smell foul air.

 _Oh, no,_ her pain-hazed mind screamed, inwardly.

She opened her eyes anyway.

Her breath started coming shorter.

_OhMakerpleasehelp_

As if in answer, her left hand sparked.

She instinctively let it do what it did, still clutching the dragon’s tooth. The dragon keened; Adhlea was suddenly seeing out of different eyes.

In the edge of the dragon’s vision, she could see herself, small and tiny and _reeking_ of fear; she could also taste her own blood.

She could feel the _other_ awareness, the hate-rage-fury that she’d subdued; and _it._ It was a spirit, a spirit of wisdom who helped in battle. She couldn’t quite grasp what it _really_ was – but it was not like Cole, was not a simple _spirit_ like Cole. This wasn’t _just_ a wisdom spirit. Forged from War and Wisdom, it had come to existence out of necessity. Its name whispered in her mind; its rage colored her thoughts.

She controlled the demonic part with all she had, clamping down on it and forcing it to dive down and set down in a field, gently setting down her body.

Hakkon Wintersbreath spoke to her, whispering before she slid back into her own body its weakness. She could not understand the spirit’s words.

Adhlea stumbled back with a gasp, breaking the brittle tooth-bone and leaving it in her arm.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra rushed towards them.

Adhlea glanced at Dorian.

“Wait!” Dorian shouted, skidding to a stop.

Adhlea frowned in confusion. She turned to the dragon. It was opening its maw.

The spell had kept both Ameridan and Hakkon Wintersbreath in stasis. Unlike Ameridan, however, who had used the spell to keep himself and the dragon together – therefore weakening the beast and keeping himself alive – the beast had had plenty of life to give the Ameridan, _had_ given to Ameridan.

Adhlea pulled the bone out of her arm with a groan, running towards Bull as the dragon loosed flame.

The dragon’s jaw snapped closed, then snapped closed right behind Adhlea.

“Bull, I need you to throw me up!” she shouted, running full-pelt towards the Qunari.

The Qunari nodded, kneeling and twining his hands together.

Adhlea cast one of her last spells as she leaped onto his cupped hands, her bow appearing and she twirled as she jumped, fitting the makeshift arrow to her bow.

He sent her sailing upwards. She watched the beast open its maw.

She poured the rest of her mana into the makeshift arrow, the bone of the dragon god glowing with red heat.

She trusted her gut and let it loose as she saw the heat build up.

The heat kept building, until it struck the dragon in the mouth.

The dragon keeled over, heavily falling as Adhlea was caught by the Iron Bull.

Adhlea panted. She could see the dragon, its own tooth piercing the head and its own scales next to its eye.

“Lady Inquisitor!”

Ameridan’s voice met her ears.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, faintly. “Everyone, meet Inquisitor Ameridan.”

She passed out before she could see their reactions, but not before she saw the ghostly wisp of Hakkon Wintersbreath slide out of its body and burst into glittering dust.

~:~

Amund watched carefully as they painted her arm with reverence; below the Champion of the Lady of the Skies markings, they now painted her with marks that denoted her defeat of Hakkon Wintersbreath.

“She is now Avvar,” Thane Sun-Hair said. “She has the marks of two gods. She is no longer an Outsider.”

“She remains,” Amund murmured. “She is a permanent being.”

“So she is,” Thane Sun-Hair said. “And she is not.”

They painted her with red even as they healed her arm of the hole; one above the hole in her arm, one under and one connecting to the holes. Once they finished with the three bands, they waited; they switched to black for this, painting the hole in her arm black before drawing up a line to connect the black-and-red mark to the blue one above. All of this took minutes; this hold’s healers were far better than the Inquisitor’s. The red made it known she had faced a challenge – Hakkon Wintersbreath – and the black made it known she had been injured, and the line up to the Lady of the Skies’ mark made it known she had won.

“Her legend-mark?” inquired Amund.

“Thalia Bright-Eyes,” Thane Sun-Hair replied. “For you saw it, too.”

Indeed, he had. Her eyes had, as she’d run to have the Qunari toss her up, glowed bright silver; a luminous color that had penetrated the dark.

“Thane of Sky Hold,” Thane Sun-Hair announced.

Amund stared at the other Thane.

“You relinquished your own clan, yes?” Thane Sun-Hair smirked at him. “You remained with her and hers even though the Lady Sky ails no more, shaman of Raven Hold. That is most telling.”

“I was ordered to by Lady Sky,” Amund murmured.

“Aye.” Thane Sun-Hair moved. “And Lady Sky dictates our moves. She has made you leave to your new hold. I am no augur, but am I wrong, shaman?”

The mage laying on the bed didn’t move as her arm was set gently down, the bucket of now-pink water removed.

“No,” Amund replied.

“The spoils of Hakkon Wintersbreath will be given to the pack-animals she brought with her,” Thane Sun-Hair announced. “They will leave when she is in better health.”

~:~

Adhlea woke up feeling well-rested. Her arm did not hurt – that alone was enough to make her alarmed. Her arm _should_ ache.

“Please, do not be alarmed.”

This… was _not_ Thane Sun-Hair’s hold.

“Where…” she paused as she looked at the spirit. “I’m in the Fade,” she realized. The spirit had the form of a woman with wispy blue hair and pure blue eyes. White skin, almost painful to look at, met her eyes. Adhlea noted that almost bruise-like formations were scattered on her skin.

“Astute of you.” The woman sitting on a settee crossed her legs. “I am not a knowledge spirit. I am a culmination of ideas and beliefs; you could say I am a version of Faith.”

“You’re very self-aware,” Adhlea stated, sitting up.

Faith hummed. “You may call me the Lady of the Skies.”

Adhlea held her right arm. The Lady of the Skies smiled.

“I am both a spirit of the Fade and not,” The Lady explained. “You have my mark and you have defeated another aspect of Faith, Hakkon Wintersbreath. More accurately, an aspect of Faith borne of Wisdom and War.”

Adhlea hesitated before asking.

“If the Avvar gods are spirits,” she hedged, “does that mean my gods are, too?”

The Lady of the Skies laughed. It was loud and light, like a summer’s breeze.

“No, young elf,” the Lady chortled. “Elves were born from the Fade. The Children of Stone came from below, and humans came from elsewhere. Qunari came from a mixture of the species. And before you ask, no, I do not know of any Maker.”

“Do you meet others a lot?” Adhlea asked her, dryly.

“No,” the Lady admitted, “but it tends to be a question on the lips of those who I _do_ meet to determine if their marks are earned.” The Lady tilted her head. “You, I think, have earned it. You have healed most of the cracks. Thane of Sky Hold, I name you Thalia Bright-Eyes.”

Adhlea blinked, finding herself back into Thane Sun-Hair’s hold.

Her arm throbbed painfully.

“Your arm is healed,” the Thane’s voice announced. “Thane Bright-Eyes.”

Adhlea turned her head to the Thane’s voice, seeing her smirk.

“Lady of the Skies sends her greetings,” Adhlea said, hoarsely.

Thane Sun-Hair offered a smirk.


	106. Chapter 106

The Iron Bull roared as he lifted his tankard, calling the woman entering the structure. “Hey, Boss! We fought a –“

Quicksilver eyes met his. His words died in his throat.

“Something wrong?” she asked, tilting her head to him.

“Your eyes,” he managed.

She took it the wrong way, waving her hand in front of her face.

“Nothing’s wrong with my eyes. What about them has changed?”

“Their color,” Dorian said, after throwing her a glance. “Why’d they turn silver?”

Boss looked torn between hope and resignation. “My… eye color has changed?”

In response, Dorian shoved over a bowl of water.

She looked into the water for a few seconds.

“Well,” she said, a smile appearing on her face, “it’s about fucking _time_ my original eye color appeared.”

“Your eyes weren’t always red?” Ameridan – and wasn’t _that_ strange, realizing that an eight-hundred-year-old elf stood before them – looked at the younger Inquisitor critically.

She flushed and shook her head. “Blood magic accident that happened years ago.”

“Interesting,” Ameridan said, noncommittedly. Bull figured there was a story there – one Boss wasn’t going to share.

~:~

Adhlea was torn between worry and excitement as Skyhold appeared. The young elf smiled at Enaste, who either didn’t notice or care, as she passed the Dalish camp.

“Why is a clan here?” Ameridan asked, loudly.

“Oh, this is mine,” Adhlea said, turning and giving Ameridan a nervous smile. “The remains of Clan Lavellan. I’m going to ask you to stay in the keep for tonight, because Leliana will want to probe, more than likely; but after that you can mingle. Oh, um – my clan? We’re not revivalist,” she explained, awkwardly. “And stay away from Isanami. She’s the only crone in the clan.”

The horses began the ascent to the keep proper.

The keep opened before them, the dragon skull causing people to start talking.

Adhlea was well-used to ignoring them as she dismounted, her arm still bound.

 _We healed it, but avoiding use of it would be best,_ Thane Sun-Hair had told her. _It was almost separated from the top; we healed what we could of that, too._

She glanced to Bull.

“Find a place for the dragon skull, yeah?”

He nodded, looking as exhausted as Adhlea felt.

It was still early in the day, too – early enough for Syven to come barreling down and leaping off the staircase at her.

Agony splintered her vision.

 _“Fuck!”_ her oath rang across the grounds. “Syven get off _get off now!”_

Syven scrambled off and yanked her up – _by her right arm._

“ _STOP TOUCHING ME!”_ She bent over, trying to breathe through the spots.

“I’m _sorry,_ Andraste’s tits! Why are _you_ so grouchy?”

“I,” Adhlea bit out, trying her best to be civil, “recently nearly got my fucking _arm_ torn off by a fucking _Avvar god,_ that’s why, you _ass.”_

She staggered uphill.

“Wait – so the dragon skull –“

“Was, yes, the Avvar god I had to kill.”

“You might not have _had_ to,” Ameridan interjected, “if he had not been corrupted by a demon.”

“Oh, yes, _thank you for telling me that,”_ Adhlea snapped irately, storming up the steps. “Come on, Ameridan.”

She heard Ameridan’s footsteps following.

“Wait – _sis,_ your eyes!”

“Magic, Syven! _Magic!”_

She walked down the hallway, noting that their eyes flicked to her and then to Ameridan before dismissing it as just another new ally. Adhlea pointed around the hall, turning to Ameridan.

“I’ve got to get this looked at by my healer,” she said. “Wait here until I return, please.”

She didn’t wait for his reply, instead walking to the Rotunda.

Solas wasn’t there. Adhlea sat on one of the lower steps, holding her arm.

He came out of his room, his ice magic a soothing balm to her own.

“Are you all right?”

“My right arm hurts,” she admitted quietly. “I was hoping you’d look at it.”

“Of course.” He sat down next to her, taking it in his hand. Adhlea helped him undo the bandages that layered it.

Her shoulder looked almost purple, her Avvar markings having the only clear skin. Solas touched the black circle.

“What happened?” he asked her, softly.

“Oh, I fought Hakkon Wintersbreath,” she said. “He flew into the sky, I stabbed him in the eye, he fell and I fell with him. He caught me in his teeth, I _think_ a spirit helped me control the demon that had taken over Wintersbreath and set me down but not before I got a hole put in my arm.”

A wry smile appeared on his face. “And you didn’t take _me?”_ he asked.

Adhlea laughed. “I felt bad. I’ve been dragging your attention from the Inquisition all the time. You needed some time away from me, anyway; I keep dragging you into my dreams.” She felt his hands pause on her arm. “Also, I wanted to apologize.” There was a lump in her throat as she looked away from him. “I know I keep… I’m giving you hints I want to press forward. If you aren’t ready for that, I completely understand.” She looked at her knees. “If you want to talk, though – I’m open.”

She peeked over at him. He met her eyes.

“They’re silver,” he breathed.

“Yeah, um. I met the Avvar spirit – the Lady of the Skies. She, um, called me Thalia Bright-Eyes. I’m guessing they’re not red anymore because of her.”

“ _Vhenan,_ I also must apologize.” He dropped his hands from her arm. “I have… I do not have issues with sex. I am… _reluctant_ to go forward for many, very selfish reasons.”

 _Because you’re hiding something, right?_ Adhlea offered him a smile as he seemed to struggle with his words.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I won’t press for anything, I promise. I’m… more than satisfied, now.”

“Oh, for the love of the Maker,” they heard above them. “Will you two just _– eek!”_

Adhlea waved her left hand. The small shriek she heard from Doshiel was enough to make her smirk.

“I have some potions that accelerate healing in my rooms,” Solas said, standing. “If you’d like to join me there.”

“I think I’m good out here,” Adhlea chuckled.

Solas arched a brow. “Well, the potion I was going to give you accelerates healing during slumber. I assumed you wanted to be out of pain _sooner_ rather than later -?”

“Oh…” Adhlea groaned and wiped her face. “Right. Um, sure.”

“If it reassures you, I’ll leave the door open,” he said.

~:~

Ameridan tapped his fingers awkwardly as a dwarf appeared.

“Oh, hey there,” the dwarf said, flashing a smirk at him. “What’s your name?”

“I am Ameridan,” Ameridan replied, watching the dwarf carefully.

“Huh. Neat,” the dwarf drawled. “Waiting on someone?”

“The Inquisitor,” he admitted.

“Oh. She’s probably sleeping in her lover’s rooms right now.”

Ameridan arched a brow. “She said –“

“Probably not intentional,” the dwarf interrupted. “Varric Tethras, by the way. You know Wicked Grace?”

Ameridan nodded.

“I do.” He’d played it a few times with Drakon and Telana.

“Let’s play, then.”


	107. Chapter 107

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask about the Empress' actions, please wait until after this upcoming arc. They'll be explained because I really wanted to make this arc.

“Inquisitor. We have approaching forces underneath the Orlesian banner.” Josephine looked strained. “Your clan is starting a line of defense. Should we get ready?”

Adhlea traced her lower lip; her right arm twinged, but since it’d been a few weeks since defeating the dragon-Avvar god creature, she paid it little mind.

“Defense positions only,” she ordered. “Syven will keep the elves from firing or attacking.”

~:~

Alexander halted his horse as they saw the mass of elves. Ranging from young adults holding a myriad of weapons to an old, hateful-looking crone holding a staff, he halted his soldiers.

“Halt!” he ordered when they tried to continue.

“All of you, move aside!” A familiar face approached. Calia looked up at his horse, crossing the small no-man’s land to talk to him. “This an invasion, Ser?”

She had on a mask of complete professionalism.

“No,” Alexander said. “We have come to offer our horses to the Inquisition on behalf of Emperor Gaspard, as part of an accord Madame de Fer made with him and the Empress.”

Calia’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh?” she questioned. “We shall see what the Lady Inquisitor has to say about this.”

“We also bring one slated for execution,” Alexander said to her. “It is the hope of the Empress that she is given to the Inquisition as a peace offering of sorts.”

Calia simply rolled her eyes.

“Please, Ser, follow me. If your men follow without being given permission, the elves of Clan Lavellan are more than happy to bring swift justice on your heads.”

The old crone looked hopeful.

Alexander followed on his horse, an annoyingly slow pace. His horse started up the stone path of Skyhold, having little difficulty navigating the steps.

 _This is ridiculous,_ he thought to himself as they finally arrived, the gate open. He could see people, ready to defend Skyhold to their last breath. Dalish elves glared at him from their spots.

He swallowed as Calia stopped him.

“Dismount,” she ordered him, a sweet smile on her face.

 _Really?_ He nearly rolled his eyes but dismounted. One hand on his sword as a caution, the chevalier followed Calia up the stairs and into a huge hall.

Tevinter-style griffons decorated the keep. Chantry windows glittered, refracting sunlight. Fereldan tables and chairs, one Orlesian wire table with its ridiculously fancy wire chairs…

His eyes were drawn to the dragon skull mounted on the wall.

And then his eyes latched onto the woman seated on the throne. It was not Orlesian, nor Ferelden or Tevene or dwarvish. It was a simple hard chair with tables littered with documents and maps next to it, the Dalish Grand Duchess seated on it like it was as comfortable as one of those Nevarran beds.

(He, himself, had indulged. Nevarran beds were so _fucking comfortable…_ )

“Inquisitor,” he said, his eyes sliding over the Lion of Ferelden, the Left Hand of the Divine, and the Ambassador Montilyet. His eyes met the Right Hand of the Divine – and it was like the world melted away. Fierce expression or not, the Seeker Pentaghast was definitely one of the most handsome females he’d clapped eyes on.

“Ser Varan,” the Inquisitor said, drawing his attention back to her. “I knew I lied to my clan’s former Keeper about an Exalted March upon us when I _did,_ but perhaps you and yours have tricked me.” She tilted her head. “Tell me, does Orlais have a problem with the way things turned out?”

Alexander shook his head. “My lady, the Emperor Gaspard has ordered us to your side. Not to foster an alliance between Orlais and the Inquisition, but because we do not approve of the Empress’ way of militarization. We bring two hundred chevaliers, one Witch of the Wilds that cannot be trusted, and a prisoner Empress Celene thought best to be executed by your hand.”

“The Empress has begun militarization? Why?” interrogated the Left Hand sharply.

“She… _fears_ the power the Inquisition holds. Your husband the Emperor broke his forces in half; the Lady Briala has fled Orlais, and – well.” Alexander shifted under the Inquisitor’s stone-cold glare. “Half of our company are elvhen servants, my lady.”

“Not an Exalted March, then.” The Seeker enfolded her arms. “Not exactly. And would she go against us?”

“We’re not an extremely major power, Cass. Wouldn’t make much sense,” Lady Montilyet said with a head-shake. Alexander doubted the _not a major power_ part. They were a _huge_ player in the Game.

“There’s something you should know, my lady,” Alexander said. “The elves in my company are all mages.”

A ringing silence.

“Fuck,” the elvhen duchess breathed. “And templars?”

“It is Seekers, in actuality,” Alexander replied, bowing his head. “The Empress has brought Seekers in to see who in the alienages have magic. Emperor Gaspard is stopping her from making anyone under the age of fourteen Tranquil, but –“

He broke off. Since Halamshiral, the Empress had been… well, _upset_ was putting it mildly. Despite the ball having happened less than a month previously, Celene’s tolerance to mages had dropped to _zero_ for some reason, Seekers coming in and terrorizing anyone in _and_ out of the Circles. Luckily, the Empress only stooped to making so-called _criminal_ mages Tranquil for even the smallest of crimes.

Not that Alexander thought that being made Tranquil was in any way a blessing – he knew very well that it wasn’t.

“And the prisoner was sent as a _gift_ for me to execute?” the Inquisitor asked, disbelief clear in her words. Digust flashed upon her face as she said that.

Alexander shrugged. “I… honestly don’t know,” he said. “I am as puzzled as you are.”

The Inquisitor sighed. “Right. Well. Your men will have to find space –“

“I have a ready spot,” Calia interrupted. “We can set the prisoner in the dungeons and I can show the other chevaliers to the barracks.”

“Fine by me, thank you, Calia.” The Inquisitor flicked her hand. “Follow Calia. I’ve got to see if we can feed more people.”

He bowed to her stiffly, turning and following the servant girl.

“Oh, and Alexander?”

Alexander turned, slightly shocked she recalled his name.

“It’s nice to see you,” she said, offering him a smile.

“And you, my lady,” he said, bowing a little.


	108. Chapter 108

Florianne stared at her defiantly.

“This,” she said, “is all because of _you,_ thief. _You_ were the one to create the Breach in the sky. If you left well-enough alone, Corypheus would have burned this world in an instant. But now he’ll make you _suffer.”_

_Will he now?_

“You say that as if Corypheus is a god,” Adhlea said, keeping her tone as even as she could.

“He is one,” Florianne said, reverent. “He has seen the seat of the Maker. Glorious, wonderful visions.”

Adhlea stared at her. “You know, I had no aspirations to be a duchess,” she said, not realizing eyes turned to her. “You know this. So _why?_ Why side with _him,_ who offers nothing but destruction?”

“ _Because he would have given me everything,”_ Florianne snapped.

“He would have given you _nothing,”_ Adhlea replied, sharply. “He said he saw the seat of the Maker. Do you know what he said about what he saw?”

Florianne paused, for the first time looking uncertain.

Adhlea stood. “ _I have seen the seat of the Maker, and it was empty,”_ she quoted. Florianne went pale. “ _That_ is what the liar said.” Adhlea went down to her level, kneeling on the ground in front of the breaking woman. “Florianne de Chalons, I take not your life, but your name if you wish to live.” Florianne’s eyes were wet with tears.

“How do I know you do not lie?”

“Why would I lie to you?” Adhlea wondered. “You were among the kindest nobles I had the pleasure of meeting. You let me have a dress, you smiled and welcomed me into the family – I owe you a debt of gratitude. But the gratitude only extends so far, Florianne. I would offer a second chance to those who had been condemned; if you _truly_ wish to die, I will let you choose your death. Either way, Florianne de Chalons dies today. Corypheus lies to those he uses, as he must have to you. I can _guarantee_ that he would have given you _nothing._ Has he offered to help you escape your cousin?”

Adhlea never hated Florianne. She had not particularly _liked_ the quiet woman, but – but she hadn’t succeeded in killing Celene. This was the only reason that she was being offered this. If there was a fucking _chance,_ Adhlea would _grasp it and yank it._

So… Adhlea drew her in for a hug.

“I’ll be there,” Adhlea promised. “I will not lie to you intentionally. I will do my best to fulfill any promise I make you.”

Florianne burst into tears.

~:~

Florianne had had a month to think in dank, dark cells. She had only held onto the threads Corypheus had granted her out of petty jealousy and rage.

The night at the ball – she’d seen a whole different side to the elven woman. Where she’d been sheet-white and terrified and altogether _scared and shaky_ before _,_ then… Then she’d met clever eyes and a pretty smile. The Grand Duchess had changed.

Florianne was certain she’d die the day Celene had her dragged out of her cell. She’d been terrified, yelling threats until she’d been gagged.

Florianne knew, then – that Corypheus was never going to fulfill _his_ side of the bargain. He’d _sworn_ to her that if she failed that he’d create an opportunity for her to kill Celene.

And now, Adhlea was offering her a clean slate, and trusted that she’d not try anything to hug _her._ She was warm; the warmth sank deep into her bones in a matter of seconds, telling her words she shouldn’t believe but was anyway.

Florianne de Chalons had always been ignored by her cousin. Her brother had dismissed her until she’d brought up a plan to kill Celene; _then_ she’d suddenly become valuable. Still, he usually forgot her.

Just Florianne sat on the floor of a keep that was far from completely clean, being hugged by a younger woman who was _giving her a clean slate._

Adhlea moved back, her silver eyes kind. “What say you, Florianne? Join the Inquisition.”

“I am yours,” Florianne choked, hanging her head.

“Keys.” There was a jangle of them. Adhlea moved closer to Florianne. “I forgot we had an audience,” the elf mumbled. Florianne couldn’t help but laugh and sob at the same time when she glanced up and saw the redhead’s flushed ears.

“It’s not funny,” Adhlea grumbled, the chains falling to the ground. “C’mon.” Adhlea gripped Florianne’s elbows, tugging her up. “Let’s go find you a room, okay?”

Florianne wiped her eyes. “If that’s what you want to do,” she muttered, her voice weak.

“It is,” Adhlea said, firm.


	109. Chapter 109

“You know you have half of Skyhold talking about what you did, correct?” Josephine asked, eyeing Adhlea as the elf wandered around.

“Half of Skyhold is always saying something,” Adhlea said, sounding dismissive. “I tend to not care, most times.”

“They speak of favoritism,” Josie warned.

“I cannot kill Florianne,” Adhlea admitted, “but not out of favoritism or otherwise. What I said out there was true; you join the Inquisition, follow its rules – your previous life will not be acknowledged. Spread _that,_ Josie.”

“I shall,” Josie nodded. “Now, I have to make it clear – no drinking darkspawn taint, right?”

“We’re not the _Wardens_ ,” Adhlea said, shooting Josie a confused look. “We don’t – we don’t recruit like them.”

“Perhaps not,” Josie conceded. “But you cannot deny the similarities.”

“No,” groaned Adhlea. “I can’t. Just – please make it clear that I don’t forcibly drag people to the Inquisition.”

Josie nodded. “And – one last thing, my lady.” She hesitated for a moment. “A templar and a mage from the White Spire have come. They wanted to speak with you, personally; well, Rhys did. He mentioned something about a spirit named Cole?”

The name of the human vaguely rang a bell, but Cole’s name jolted the Inquisitor enough to snap her eyes to Josie’s.

“Where are they?”

“They said they would be in the Herald’s Rest.”

Josie had never seen Adhlea leave fast enough. She couldn’t blame her. Depending on the song, Maryden really _did_ have a talent for pissing people off.

~:~

Evangeline flushed as the bard kept singing, this time about the Champion’s sexual exploits and… well… About mages and their lack of control. Explicitly. Rhys looked like he regretted ever coming here.

The song finished. A brunette sitting near a Qunari raised her tankard.

“Thanks, Maryden! Didn’t know mages could do _that_ with lightning!”

Maryden smiled prettily. “I’ve had the experience to know such things, Hawke.” She winked.

_Wait. HAWKE._

_THAT WAS THE **CHAMPION OF KIRKWALL, LOOKING ALL THE WORLD LIKE SHE WAS HAVING A GRAND OLD TIME?!**_

The door opened, admitting a redheaded elf with Dalish markings all over her face; _lyrium_ painted markings that seemed to glow a deep blue.

“Oi, Quizzy!” Another Dalish elf threw something at her. The redhead caught the item; upon careful consideration, it looked like she was getting angry as she threw the item back.

“I don’t want your knives, Doshiel!”

“Bet you want Solas’!” The Champion snorted at the crude words.

The elf threw the other elf a pointed middle finger.

“Aw, I’m flattered! Just tell me the date and time!”

The redhead flushed. Evangeline choked on her ale as the redhead didn’t entirely dismiss her statement, but Evangeline supposed ‘Doshiel’ did this often – nobody looked scandalized.

“Looking for someone, Inquisitor?” Maryden asked, politely.

“Just someone named Rhys,” the newly-named Inquisitor said, her eyes meeting Evangeline’s and sliding away.

“Over here!” Rhys stood.

The Inquisitor blinked as her eyes turned to them, then walked over as Maryden started strumming; the Inquisitor tossed a sentence over to Maryden.

“Please don’t start singing of _my_ sexual exploits. I wouldn’t want to give people the wrong idea.”

“As if you have any to sing about,” Maryden countered with a cheeky smile.

“Boss, you just got burned!” the Qunari bellowed with a large smirk.

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes and slid across from the duo.

“You told Josephine you wanted to speak of Cole,” the Inquisitor said, without pleasantries.

Rhys blinked. “Yes, actually. I – we –“

“We were hoping you could tell us if he remains in this world,” Evangeline interrupted gently. “Rhys has a misguided notion he must _apologize_ to the spirit.” She rolled her eyes.

“Why?” the Inquisitor looked puzzled. “What happened?”

“I… ordered Cole away, when I found out he was a spirit.” Rhys looked embarrassed. “He helped us. Recently, we were in the White Spire and we found his body.”

Open confusion was portrayed on the Inquisitor’s face.

“His _body_?”

~:~

 _But Cole isn’t just a spirit. He’s something Else,_ Adhlea wanted to say. She refrained, however.

“Cole was a boy, a mage. I don’t know the full story, but templars threw him in the dungeons –“ _oh my fucking Creators, the Circles have **dungeons?!**_ “- and left him there to die. I’m guessing Cole was a spirit who took on the aspect of a non-mage because that’s what he wanted. I reacted… _badly_ after I found out he was helping us kill other mages.”

Adhlea licked her lips. _Oh, please,_ she wanted to scoff.

“I didn’t want to turn him into a demon, so I ordered him away and –“

“Please, _shut up,”_ Adhlea requested, anger simmering in her veins. She glared at Rhys. “Apologize to Cole, _if_ you mean it.”

“You don’t need to, Rhys!” Evangeline folded her arms, glaring at Adhlea. Adhlea returned it. “ _You_ are a mage, are you not? Why let a _spirit_ join your ranks?”

 _Cole is… good._ There was no other way Adhlea could explain.

“Not all spirits are bad,” Adhlea settled on. “You condemn them for what they _might_ become. Cole’s purpose is to _help._ He does not deserve your hatred, serah; I know him and I trust him.”

“Then you are a _fool,”_ Evangeline snapped. “Spirits will _always_ turn into demons, _it is their nature.”_

Adhlea’s nostrils flared. She could feel heat in the air.

~:~

Rhys’ gaze landed on the one they were arguing about, staring at them from the top floor of the Herald’s Rest. He looked no older than he had been when Rhys had last seen him.

He looked no older than the day he died.

Rhys took a deep, cleansing breath.

 _I’m sorry,_ he mouthed to the boy. Heat washed over him as Cole vanished; Rhys tuned the Inquisitor and his lover back in as Evangeline moved, pressing her hand on her sword. The Inquisitor looked absolutely _furious_ at Evangeline’s words, her eyes bright.

“Eva, let’s go,” Rhys urged. He was beginning to sweat, and he knew that from experience pissing off a fire mage was a spectacularly _bad_ idea because when they got pissed, they tended to light things on fire without mercy. Plus, well. Rhys had heard of the Inquisitor’s antics; best not to piss off a woman who had lost her magic _and_ gained it back.

“No,” Eva said, standing and taking out half her sword. “ _You_ shouldn’t have to apologize to nothing but –“

“ _Leave,”_ the Inquisitor snarled, standing and knocking her chair back. “Before I show you _how_ I survived three holy smites, _templar_.”

“OI!”

All three heads turned to the barkeeper. The dwarf hefted an axe.

“If you’re going to be flingin’ magic, _get out of my bar!”_

Eva bared her teeth before sliding her sword in her scabbard.

“Piss off,” the templar snapped.

“Seriously, haven’t you got better things to do than threaten clientele?” The Inquisitor relaxed, her magic no longer stifling the air. “Look, Eva, was it?”

Eva turned her head, her expression polite. “Evangeline de Brassard, yes.”

“Please refrain from insulting my companions,” the Inquisitor requested. “It gets people nervous and questioning, and Cole really hates it when I get stressed on his behalf.”

“I will do so, so long as the spirit remains far from me,” Eva said, removing her hand from her sword. “Did you _really_ survive three holy smites because you’re the Maker’s chosen Herald?”

“No, it was… something that I don’t talk about in your kind of company,” the Inquisitor admitted. “Mostly because… well, if I told you, you’d try to kill me.”

Rhys frowned. There was Harrowing magic – if it was performed outside Circles, they were put to death – blood magic – that was a given – and time magic; nobody performed any time magic due to its only _theoretical_ existence.

“Right,” Evangeline said, her tone stiff. “I shall refrain from enquiring any further.”

“Will you be joining the Inquisition?”

Both women sat, the Inquisitor righting her chair. Rhys sat, rather dumbly.

 _I don’t understand what’s going on,_ he thought as he watched the two women start to chat rationally, as though they hadn’t almost come to blows. _Women are fucking **weird.**_

“If you’ll have me,” Eva said. “I’m staying with Rhys, either way.”

“Well, if you _do,_ I’ll have to talk with Cullen,” the Inquisitor admitted. “There’s been a shortage of beds.”

Eva nodded. “Rhys and I will talk and, if we choose to stay, I’ll seek out Ser Rutherford.”

“You’re familiar with him?” the Inquisitor wondered.

“Yes,” Eva nodded. “We met, briefly.”

 _Women are weird,_ Rhys mournfully repeated in his mind.


	110. Chapter 110

Adhlea tossed an apple upwards, catching it as she meandered through Skyhold. She spotted the person she actually needed to talk to. Aside from Cullen, of course.

“Hey, Varric!”

The dwarf started almost violently, stuffing a bunch of paper into a book.

“Inquisitor!” he offered her a sheepish smile as she strode up to him.

“I’ve got a question concerning templars,” she told him, having a sneaking suspicion about the paper he’d shoved into the book. “Cullen is currently over-seeing all of the templars here; I would like your opinion –“

“If it’s about promoting him, you’d have to talk with Revered Mother Giselle,” Varric interrupted, sitting back. “The Chantry dictates who gets promoted and shit.”

_Fuck._

Adhlea gave him a tense smile before it turned into a smirk. “If that’s a story about me,” she said, “I want you to note that I enjoy setting things on fire.”

She whirled on her heel, leaving the main part of Skyhold.

She found the Revered Mother in the small Chantry space she’d had made, in a room off the gardens. Seeing as the Dalish currently living around Skyhold didn’t really need a space for their faith _and_ the Avvar – of which Amund was currently the only Avvar there – didn’t need a space, there had really been no need to make such a stipulation.

Adhlea leaned against a wall as the Revered Mother led the Chant. Beautiful and melancholy; those two words were the words she gave to the Chant. She let the words flow around her, listening to the people murmur. Closing her eyes, she let the sound dance around her.

When the Revered Mother finished, she opened her eyes. Candles were blown out, people started to leave – Adhlea was well-aware of the stares she got from the humans and the elves, but kept her eyes glued to the Revered Mother.

Giselle waited until the other sisters left the room before smiling at the Inquisitor.

“How may I help you, Inquisitor?”

“I was wondering how to promote a templar of great service,” Adhlea replied. “I have heard you were the one to talk to.”

“Yes,” the Revered Mother said with a nod. “Tell me, does Ser Rutherford want this?”

“He actually doesn’t know,” Adhlea confessed. “Shall we walk?”

Mother Giselle nodded. The duo began walking, as though none of their previous clashing occurred before.

“Normally, you would need the agreement of the current Divine,” Giselle said, “and the Knight-Divines. But they were all killed.”

“Oh. So they’re not just a rumor,” Adhlea muttered.

“No,” Giselle chuckled. “No, they are not.” Giselle took a deep breath. “I will talk to several other Revered Mothers,” she said, “and I will have to get back to you on that, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Mother Giselle.” They walked in silence for another moment.

“Shall I be prepared to see you in further mass-Chant times?” Mother Giselle questioned, looking faintly amused as she posed the question.

“Probably not,” Adhlea admitted.

“You know, seeing you there today will spark rumors,” Mother Giselle said with a knowing smile.

Adhlea offered her a cool smile. “Such as the rumors about my brother and Dorian?”

Giselle’s smile strained. “I am not certain as to what you mean, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, Mother Giselle,” Adhlea smiled. “I think you do.” Her eyes flashed. “And I _do not_ appreciate it. I would like you to inform the rumor mills that Dorian Pavus is under the protection of the Bull’s Chargers as well as my own protection, Mother Giselle. I do not appreciate it when people under my watch are slandered.”

Adhlea turned away on her heel, stalking into the keep without a break in stride.


	111. Chapter 111

“Our influence is growing, but we cannot sustain much more refugees,” Josephine said, accosting Adhlea on her way to see Solas. “I’m sorry to blindside you with this, but Queen Anora has a list of keeps she and Alistair are willing to give up if we turn over the Mayor Dedrick to her when we find him.”

“Who’s that, again?” Adhlea tried to remember.

“Mayor of Crestwood,” Josephine told her. “Here’s the list. Caer Bronach is ours, if we so desire it. But the problem remains the supplies.”

Adhlea eyed the list of keeps.

“I can pull some strings to carry us until Harvestmere,” Adhlea said, thinking of the lords and ladies. An idea flickered in her mind. “Halla statues.”

“I’m – sorry?”

“Oh.” Adhlea blinked. “I make halla statues. It was a hobby when I was younger; in my free time, I made halla statues out of moldable materials.” Josephine’s eyes lit up.

“That _would_ guarantee us a sizable income. However, the amount of mouths we must feed we _must_ have more resources,” Josephine stressed.

Adhlea hummed to herself. “This was originally just supposed to be temporary; the land around Skyhold isn’t suitable for farming.” She stopped, another idea forming. “Josie! Follow me!”

She didn’t wait, rushing past Solas who was exiting the Rotunda and throwing a distracted smile over her shoulder at him.

She spotted the man she needed to speak to, bellowing his name.

“AMUND!”

Amund stopped walking towards his proclaimed spot; more than a few people practicing magic and others practicing their sword skills looked up, but then dismissed the disturbance as Adhlea took a running leap off the stone steps.

Amund caught her.

“Thank you,” Adhlea smiled.

“Anything for you, Thane.”

Adhlea twitched as he set her down.

“Inquisitor!” Josephine rushed up behind them. “What is your idea?”

“The Avvar do trade with Val Royeaux, yes?” Adhlea questioned, clasping her hands. “They trade for furs and such, yes?”

“And weapons,” nodded the shaman. “I can say with truth that many of my kinsmen wish to aide this cause, if only to heed the Lady’s wishes.”

_So the Lady is watching out for the Inquisition… But why?_

“We can trade weapons, more than likely, for food,” Adhlea bargained. “Is there some way you can get this to the other tribes?”

“Add furs and they will not be so hesitant,” Amund rumbled. “They would even trade with _your_ kin.”

He motioned with his head to the Dalish.

Adhlea nodded. “Thank you.” She offered him an awkward nod. She glanced over to Josie, who nodded and made a notation.

“Thane, I have a personal matter I would speak with you off,” the Avvar shaman said, his deep voice lower than ever.

Adhlea paused in her act of turning away before giving Josie a smile.

“I’ll meet you inside, Josie.”

Josie nodded, walking up into the keep.

Adhlea turned to the Avvar.

“What is it?” she questioned, worried.

“Nothing terrible, Thane. I…” Amund was _never_ this unsure. “I would like to be part of this Hold,” he said, shifting his eyes to the sky. “Since I have stayed here, I have found purpose in the Lady of the Skies’ words; even though I must go to the woods to convene with the spirits of the beyond, I would like to be part of your tribe, Thane Bright-Eyes. My tribe, Raven Hold, will not accept my presence.”

“Why not?” Adhlea frowned.

“I have left them, and have not returned,” Amund replied, folding his arms and shifting in his stance. “The chieftain of my tribe would have my head should I ever return.”

Adhlea swallowed.

“What would bringing you into my… _tribe_ entail?”

“Some of whom you consider kinsmen watching as you take the Goddess-marks away that my tribe has given me, and you give me new ones,” Amund said, staring at her.

Adhlea considered.

“I’ll accept you into my tribe, Amund of Raven Hold.” Adhlea paused. “Please, though – tell me your Goddess-marks do not, er, _go past the belt.”_

“I need not strip completely, if that’s what you are asking,” Amund said, a small smirk coming on his face.

Adhlea sighed in relief.

“I will wear a loincloth if it bothers you.”

Adhlea shut her eyes and squeezed them shut. _Ugh, you have **got** to be joking._

“Oh, and I shall teach you the spell to wash away my Goddess-marks. This spell need not be applied but once, right here.”

He touched his heart.

_Thank you, Andraste, Maker, Lady of the Skies, Mythal – ANY god or goddess watching, THANK YOU._

~:~

Varric wondered, for a moment, if Dahlia was cursed. Thankfully, most of Skyhold usually _didn’t_ enter the main room when Dahlia was there. Nevertheless, watching a mostly-naked Avvar be magically cleansed of _most_ of his so-called ‘Goddess-marks’ above the waist and tell Dahlia she had to touch a leg… Well, Varric had to smother his laughter as her face went pale white. She did it.

“Hey, Chuckles. Enjoying your lover do incredible feats of magic?”

“Hardly incredible,” Solas muttered next to him. “She is simply erasing Avvar markings. It’s possible for any mage.”

“I’m telling her you said that,” Varric muttered, smirking into his beer when Solas stiffened minutely. “She’s gonna be _crushed._ Hey, since you’re not getting any sex from her, are you condemned to ‘no kissing’ if she’s insulted by you?”

“What happens when we insult each other is between _us,”_ Solas informed Varric, his hand tightening around his staff. “Please stay out of our relationship.”

Varric flicked his eyes to Dahlia, then to Solas – then back to Dahlia, something cold slithering down his spine.

She was painting the Avvar’s face; but that was not what made Varric tense. It was the light in her eyes, a light that was faintly blue. _A spirit._

“Now, _that_ is impressive,” Solas murmured. “Channeling a spirit, even unknowingly, is a feat few have dared to try.”

“If a mage does so, does that mean they’re vulnerable?” Varric asked, ready to harden his heart.

“No,” Solas said, glancing down at Varric. “It being benign is the only reason it could have slipped past the wards of Skyhold.” He returned to watching the exchange.

 _Wards **you** seem to have intimate knowledge of,_ Varric mused to himself. In truth, half the mages did not know what half the wards were supposed to do; in the event they didn’t, they deferred to Solas.

“You are accepted,” the Inquisitor said, the blue light in her eyes fading as she held her hand out. Amund grasped her forearm. “Welcome to my hold, Amund.”

“Thank you, Thane Bright-Eyes.”


	112. Family P1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A painful truth is revealed about Adhlea and Syven's father; Yenera learns something about her mother's death.

Sera had thought long and hard about what Adhlea had snapped at her near Caer Bronach. The blonde elf sighed, loudly, as she finished meeting with another Jenny. The man had been surprised at her appearance; Sera was probably the most well-known Jenny out there. Not entirely something Sera was proud of, as the Red Jennies were supposed to be _secret,_ but the Jenny she knew to be an avid supporter of elf freedom (despite the fact the man in question was _actually_ a human) agreed to her proposition.

So here she was, walking back to Skyhold.

They probably hadn’t missed her, Sera thought. She’d been gone for a while, but she was known only as the crazy elf. Sera chose not to have a filter.

She slipped into the huge fortress-keep silently, intending on heading to see Quizzy. There was another problem she was facing; while not pressing, she _needed_ to tell the –

“Elf girl!”

Sera stopped at the bellow. She turned and saw legs.

_Legs for daaaaaays._

Her desire to see Quizzy evaporated as she licked her lips to see the hot Adaar she’d been drooling over in the distance, standing right in front of her.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she purred up to the Adaar. “What can I do ya for?”

To her delight, a flush spread on the Adaar’s face.

~:~

Revassan Boranehn was not usually a messenger. He detested menial tasks such as these.

However, Keeper Tabris had ordered him to inform the child he’d given birth to the location of the Arlathvhen. Keeper Tabris had been forced to watch Clan Boranehn – and therefore disrupted Clan Boranehn’s efficiency – due to the death of the previous Keeper.

He entered Tarasyl’an Te’las in the dead of night. He knew she’d be mostly alone in the main keep; she used those hours to deal with _shem_ work.

He slid in, set the paper detailing what she needed to know about the Arlathvhen before trying to slip out.

A door opened. His daughter stepped out, blue lyrium-lines decorating her face. His heart jumped, even as he registered that he was not hidden by rogue powder. He kept as still as he could, even as he realized she was talking to the other elf next to her with a smile that reminded him of Helana. She loved this other elf; as her smile vanished and both turned to look at him, he felt a nasty shock as the elf eyed him.

The barefaced city elf was _judging_ him and _dismissing_ him.

His own daughter only showed surprise mixed with an emotion gone too fast to identify before it was swept free of anything but ice.

“What,” his child said, not freeing her hand from the barefaced elf, “the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?”

“Adhlea, I need Solas’ help, I don’t know how to measure magic – _Uncle?”_

_Oh fuck._

_Why was Yenera here?_

And Syven was there, too. With two _shem_ children.

“ _Uncle?!_ That piece of –“

“ _Syven!”_ Adhlea admonished her brother.

“- druffalo shite is related to you?” continued Syven from behind Yenera.

“Mother’s brother,” Yenera supplied. “Why, is he related to you, too? Don’t tell me I’m your half-sister.”

Revassan winced.

“This _elf,”_ Adhlea said, her voice devoid of warmth as she _finally_ let the barefaced elf go, “is the man who fucked our mother to have us.” She indicated her brother and herself. “And when it became clear we were mages, he tossed us aside.”

“I had no choice,” Revassan said, appealing to Yenera as her face twisted in disgust. “My Clan follows the rules the _shemlen_ gave us. The _shemlen_ cannot think that the People are amassing in power again, so –“

“Oh, go preach it to someone who will listen,” Syven snapped before leaning down. “Look, kids, I have to deal with unpleasant people. Go to Calia, okay?”

The human children nodded before racing away through Skyhold.

His daughter glanced up at the barefaced elf. “I apologize for dragging you into this, Solas. You probably don’t want to be here.”

“It’s… fine,” the elf said, his eyes assessing Revassan. “If it is all right with you, _vhenan,_ I will stay.”

She smiled up at him for a moment, her eyes –

Revassan noticed her eyes.

“You’re no longer a blood mage,” he said, relief crashing through him. “I am glad you’ve gotten over that dangerous –“

“Oh. My. Creators,” Adhlea said, interrupting him. “I need a fucking _drink_ if I’m going to be dealing with you.”

“I will leave as soon as I am finished speaking my piece,” Revassan snapped. “I may not be a _mage.”_ He spat the word out; being a mage was a _burden,_ not a _gift_ the other fucking clans thought it was – even Boranehn’s Keepers always agreed it would be better to be born _without_ magic! “But I _am_ still your father by blood.”

“Regrettably so,” Syven said, nastily. “You took one fucking look at your own daughter’s eyes ten years ago and declared she did not have one. You tried to _rip out her eyes_ so that she could _repent to the gods for her transgressions against nature.”_ Syven mocked him, a sneer twisting his face.

Revassan glared at Syven even as his elf-blooded, Qunari-born niece’s eyes widened.

“I have no father,” Adhlea said, stepping up to her _shem_ throne. “My mother was Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan. I am Keeper Thalia Lavellan.”

“You have discarded the name you were born with?” demanded Revassan, horrified that Helana’s last gift was squandered.

Adhlea stared down at him.

“Helana Sabrae will always be treasured in my memories,” she said at last. “But Helana Sabrae spent all the time she had been given with us to try to shape us into being _perfect._ Keeper Lavellan kept us away from her long enough to understand that Clan _Lavellan_ was our family; she did not make us _perfect,_ she made us _better._ _That_ is whom _I_ consider my mother.”

“And I,” Syven said, sitting on the edge of her _shemlen_ throne. “I kept Syven purely because Helana did not use it. Adhlea discarded _Kerrah_ not to disrespect Helana, but to grow further in her life as _Thalia_.”

_She who protects us._

“You,” Revassan laughed. “You chose _Thalia?_ You, who could not protect herself without resorting to _blood magic!”_

“She did not choose it,” the barefaced elf said, his tone mild. “ _Ma vhenan_ asked me to.”

Revassan laughed harder. “A _shem elf,”_ he laughed. “You have fallen far. First a marriage to a human, now this? You will have many long nights ahead of you, _da’len._ If you come home with me, I can make you –“

“I think,” Yenera interrupted, looking partly amused, “ _he_ thinks you’re not a mage.”

Revassan snorted. “Lyrium,” he said, amused. “How could we not ever think of that? I shall make sure my Keeper –“

He stopped talking as Adhlea looked at him.

Heat blanketed the area. Revassan found it hard to breathe.

“You even _mention_ my brands to the elders before I get there,” Adhlea said, her voice soft and smooth, danger behind every syllable, “then I will kill you when I see you again, _harellen.”_

Revassan could only stare as his daughter stood.

“It is only by the mercy of the previous Keeper you yet stand there,” Adhlea said, stepping down and meeting his eyes. “I am Keeper Thalia Lavellan.”

“I am Keeper Galifalon Lavellan,” Syven said, not moving from his spot. “And your message has been received. We will meet you at the Arlathvhen grounds.”

“Leave,” Adhlea finished, her voice still soft.

Revassan gave her the darkest look he could muster. “They _will_ know about this,” he hissed feebly.

“I can’t wait, then,” smiled the Inquisitor in a more bare-your-teeth kind of movement. “And please, _do_ tell Yenera what _really_ happened to your sister.”

Revassan whirled around, taking out his rogue powder.

“I killed Uvun,” he revealed. “She was never fit to be Keeper, having an elf-blooded child with a fucking _Qunari.”_

Yenera’s face paled rapidly.

Revassan fled before anyone could stop him.


	113. Family P2

Solas had clasped her hands to gather her attention after she’d left the Avvar ceremony. Somehow, they’d remained clasped as he’d asked her about her experience – apparently she had spirit influence over her during the ceremony.

“I don’t know,” she’d murmured. “I just felt… a bit… _floaty.”_ She’d felt like everything was okay, like she was doing everything _right._ Oh, and there was some amusement when she’d had to touch Amund’s leg.

He’d released her right hand as he examined the Anchor.

“I want to make sure the spirit did not mess with it,” he explained.

She’d shrugged and let him.

After he’d finished, she hadn’t let his hand go.

“Perhaps I can escort you to your rooms,” he’d murmured, his eyes sliding across her face.

“To make certain I don’t keel over?” she’d teased gently as they’d left.

And then _he_ had been in her line of sight, a man she hadn’t seen since he’d tried ripping out her eyes before she got her _vallaslin._ As was his right, he had been informed of Adhlea’s attack; he’d come rushing over to the camp, and, seeing her eyes – _knew,_ like everyone in Dalish clans – that she had done blood magic. And a powerful blood-spell, with pure power behind it.

In front of her clan, he’d reached down and attempted to remove her eyes.

Then he’d called her ‘ _no daughter of his’_ and left.

She hadn’t seen him since.

Nothing had prepared her.

The man had silver in his hair, now; he was getting old – but it was _him._

Bone-deep terror had shot through her veins.

Adhlea had a feeling that she was going to have nightmares again.

She offered Yenera, pale and horrified, a sympathetic smile after he was gone.

“Clan Boranehn is the worst of the Dalish clans,” she said to Yenera. “They turn away any magic user that isn’t their Keeper or their First. Revassan is… our father by blood, only. I do not claim him as kin.”

“He tried to _remove your eyes?”_ Solas questioned, his eyes dark.

“It was a long time ago,” Adhlea said, dismissing his worry. “Deshanna stopped it in time.”

“Asshole knocked me out,” Syven said, looking angry. “It was Adhlea’s screams that caught Deshanna’s attention. Deshanna banned him from Clan Lavellan grounds.”

“Banned Clan Boranehn, actually.” Syven shrugged. “It was the last straw. Not even Isanami would have assaulted Adhlea like Revassan. Revassan is kin-killer.”

“We never knew his sister had a daughter,” Adhlea explained to Yenera. “You are of the Dales. If you were an elf, I would ask you to join Lavellan, but –“ Adhlea shared a look with Syven

“Yeah, Dalish elf clans are Dalish _elf_ clans,” Syven said with a slight smile. “Still. You’re kin.”

Yenera just sat down, still looking stunned.

“My uncle is an asshole who murdered my mother, attempted to rip out the eyes of my cousin, _and_ is still alive? _Why?”_

“Well…” Adhlea looked down at her hands. “ _Some_ tales of the Dalish are true. The Dalish do not normally tolerate an elf-blooded child, no matter the circumstances,” Adhlea said. “We tend to stay away from human strongholds for that reason. And… We do not look kindly at our brethren in the cities. They have turned their back on the People – so, at least, Helana said.” Adhlea shrugged. “Relations with a city elf is looked down upon, but if you stay in-clan with the child – even if the child’s other parent does not – it is… different.”

“What my sister means to say is that the knowledge that his sister bore a non-elf child was the breaking point,” Syven said.

Adhlea massaged her forehead, welcoming the feel of her _vallaslin_ under her fingers.

“And on that note, it’s been a terribly long day,” Adhlea announced. “I’m going to go sleep.”

She didn’t move, instead glancing over at the missive containing the location for the Arlathvhen as Syven nodded and left. Yenera stood, too; still looking lost, the big Adaar left the room in a daze.

This left her _mostly_ alone. She slumped and closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands.

“Are you all right?” Solas’ voice was gentle. Adhlea removed her hands from her face and nodded.

“Yes, I will be.” She stood. “I will probably regret all I have said to him when he informs the other Keepers of my words. It _is_ good to know the Keepers know of my marriage.” She stepped forward, down the dais steps. “I think I will retire, right now,” she said, honestly.

“I will let you be, then.” Solas nodded, turning away.

Adhlea opened her mouth, but bit her tongue.

 _I cannot rely only on him,_ she reminded herself, turning to head to her room before changing her mind after the door closed behind Solas. _I don’t think I’ll sleep until these papers are done._

She returned to the hard throne, picking up the pen and setting an inkwell nearby.

~:~

Doshiel strode through the caves, her old Warden armor strapped to her chest. The dark-haired woman was honestly surprised the armor still _fit._

The man she’d come to see stood under the hole in which all the sunlight poured down.

“You know,” she drawled, “you literally could have picked _anywhere_ and there wouldn’t have been eyes around.”

The man jerked and turned, his hand flying to his sword. His eyes lit up as Doshiel leaned against the rock formations that made a makeshift pillar (Doshiel could never remember the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite. Fuck it, they were _rock pillars._ ).

He relaxed upon seeing her. “Manvena,” he breathed. “I was expecting –“

“Hawke, I know. Figured I’d come ‘round, even though I want nothing to do with Fade shit.” The elf glanced around, noting the candles and the bedroll. “You _sleeping_ down here? Ugh, that’s gross, Stroud.”

“I’ve been _hiding,”_ Stroud snapped. “It’s been getting worse.” He gestured towards his head. “A Calling that I don’t think _is_ a Calling.”

“You talking about the whispers?” Doshiel asked, idly.

“You’re hearing it, too?”

“It’s more background noise, to me,” Doshiel drawled, pushing off the rock pillar. “You up for meeting the Inquisitor? She’ll help, after she returns to Skyhold after her expedition to the Storm Coast.”

Stroud scowled. “I’m not sure I want to go to that place. I heard Blackwall was there.”

“Nah, he’s not there. Just his other student, taking on his name.” Doshiel smirked lazily. “Thom Rainier, I believe.”

“ _Him?”_ Stroud’s eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck is _he_ still there?”

“Because he’s a fucking idiot who forgot about me,” Doshiel snorted. “Obviously, an inexperienced Warden who was _also_ taught by Blackwall doesn’t fuckin’ register. Also, it’s been _eleven_ years since I last saw him. Rainier’s done much good for the Inquisition; might be enough to absolve Blackwall.”

Stroud’s face set in another scowl, but the man was convinced.

“Fine,” Stroud glowered. “Don’t expect me to greet him with a smile.”

“I simply expect you to be civil,” shrugged Doshiel. “Plus, I changed my name, so there’s _another_ reason why he didn’t recognize me. Blackwall _died,_ Stroud.” Doshiel swallowed, any amusement gone. “I watched him perish. Rainier brought more honor to his name than Blackwall ever did.” Yes, Rainier had a long list of crimes even longer than Corypheus’ list of known crimes, but – _shit._ Blackwall had been cruel as _fuck_ when Doshiel – known as Manvena then – had become a Warden. He’d taught her how to wield a sword, and Doshiel _reluctantly_ admitted it saved her life. That fucker had done little good; Rainier hadn’t been there – _hadn’t seen what Doshiel had done._ Doshiel’s own crime was not negated, true; but what the original Blackwall had _done –_

Stroud closed his eyes. “Rainier’s going to panic when he sees me.” His voice broke Doshiel out of her own mind.

“Then address me by Manvena,” Doshiel snapped back. “He’ll panic _more_ when he realizes I haven’t ousted him.”


	114. Chapter 114

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: gross shit happens at the end.

Adhlea’s head broke the water as she used all her considerable strength to keep her foolish, _idiotic_ human husband afloat. Her tunic was yanked by Bull, the huge Qunari’s powerful legs dragging them out of the ocean. He let her go with a snigger.

“Of _all_ the dumb decisions,” Adhlea said, scowling down as she lugged the fucking idiot to the Orlesian camp. “To challenge an ogre without a mage is _suicide,_ you _idiot!”_

She let the unconscious human fall on a bedroll., a shiver wracking her body as she did.

“Your Grace,” one of the men said, giving her a bow. “If you require a change of clothes –“

“I’ll live,” Adhlea interrupted, her clothes drying as she concentrated her will on making her temperature higher. “Whose idea was it to challenge the ogre?”

She glared at everyone.

“The Empress Celene was informed that a red lyrium stash was here by someone she trusts,” one of the men muttered, looking resentful. “She ordered the Emperor out with his largest retinue immediately; we have no mages here. We owe you for his well-being.”

“Not I,” Adhlea admitted. “I can not cast barriers in mid-air on anyone but myself.” Adhlea glanced up at Solas and inclined her head in thanks before returning to Gaspard’s men. “Instead you owe my mage your lives. Why not hire an apostate?”

“I was overconfident,” Gaspard rasped. Adhlea turned to look at him, a scowl forming on her face. “We heard word that the ogre was injured; I thought we could take him.”

 _Arrogant, more like._ “Right,” Adhlea muttered with a discreet roll of her eyes. “At least you did not end up fish food. Saying so, _thank you_ Solas, Bull.”

“No problem, Boss,” the giant Qunari said with a grin. Adhlea heard gasps in Gaspard’s men; she ignored them. She had no need to act the demure wife here; she was here as Inquisitor, after all. Bull had a great ability – the ability to hide himself even when he was _obviously_ standing there. Ben-Hassrath skills, obviously.

Adhlea raked a hand through her salt-soaked, damp hair. A fine drizzle peppered the Storm Coast.

“Yes, well. Next time, _hire an apostate,_ considering it’s an _ogre.”_ She waved her hand over her shoulder, leaving the Orlesian camp and withdrawing the wet map, peering at it. “Your report from the Blades, Bull?” Her four companions followed as they began to trek away.

“Rift near one of those weird ocularum things Solas has been collecting shards from,” Bull reported. “Also, an elvhen artifact near the Blades’ camp’s been found. Traces of the red –“

His words were cut short as they heard the unmistakable scream of a dragon.

“Oh, fuck,” Adhlea swore as the dragon swooped down.

“This time, Boss, _you_ don’t get to ride it!” Bull bellowed. “Let’s kill it!”

Adhlea yelled after the Qun. “I didn’t _intend_ to ride the damn thing!”

Still, she cracked her back and ran forward.

“Oh, yeah,” her brother cackled as he vanished with a burst of purple powder.

Sera let an arrow fly, cackling. “Take that, you winged fuck!”

Adhlea grimaced as she prepared an Antivan fire grenade.

“Don’t,” Solas said, stopping her. “Aim for the wings. Draw its fire from the others.”

Adhlea nodded, hooking it back into her belt.

“Use your most destructive spells,” he added as Adhlea began running.

Adhlea didn’t acknowledge his words of wisdom as the dragon roared, casting a barrier around Bull and her brother, a light glow around Sera indicating the archer had been shielded by Solas. Adhlea felt her heart beating.

Unlike last time against Hakkon, this time they didn’t have the advantage of someone being close to it to stab it in its eye. Adhlea had chosen not to bring her smaller, Knight Enchanter staff with her.

Probably stupid, in hindsight. Adhlea took a deep breath and started peppering the dragon with fireballs, seeing in her peripheral vision Solas shooting it with ice magic; the dragon roared and whipped around.

Adhlea had faced an eight-hundred year old dragon filled with a spirit of war, having only the advantage of its age; the spirit’s health and vitality sustained Ameridan’s life despite the stasis spell – or _because_ of it.

She had _not_ looked a dragon directly in the eyes like this, a fire spell lighting her crystal on her Keeper staff and staring at her own reflection.

“ _Adhlea!”_

Time, which seemed to have frozen while she and the dragon stared at each other, restarted as Syven threw a rock. It hit her in the shoulder; Adhlea stumbled as the dragon leaned forward and attempted to bite her in half. Adhlea dodged, dropping her staff as she did so in order to roll just enough.

The dragon stepped forward, stepping on her staff. She heard the audible snap.

Adhlea’s eyes widened. _Oh, fuck._ She only had a couple throwing knives, because _she did not expect a fucking dragon to appear here._ At most, maybe a bear.

And then she remembered.

The titan she’d met had showed her Mythal wielding an orb. Now, Adhlea was certainly _not_ up to the level of the elves once revered as gods, but the crystals were imbued with Fade-energy to open the connection between mage and the Fade. The staves were channels, though an elf with knowledge of the Dahl’amythal would argue that the tree had mystical properties; Adhlea did not really know as that wasn’t a focus of her studies. After her mother had died, Adhlea chose the more… _practical_ aspects of wielding magic.

She could… _probably…_ wield the orb.

She could always use it to _bludgeon_ someone…

The dragon’s head snaked over. Opening its maw, Adhlea ran just as lightning came from it.

“ _IT’S A LIGHTNING DRAGON!”_ She shouted, grabbing the crystal and running. It was awkward, having to readjust as she ran, swearing as she skidded right behind a rock. Lightning skittered against it, making a trough in the ground.

She raised the orb.

_I cannot believe I’m actually going to cast without a staff._

She did. It was worse than she thought.

Okay, so maybe a staff _was_ magical.

She eyed the ocean as not even a ripple came from where her spell had killed lots of fish.

She was relatively safe for the moment… Wait…

Well… it was big enough to do so…

She grinned and doused herself with rogue powder, running with the orb under the dragon’s belly. Solas breathed heavily; she shouted as she ran past him.

“Drag its attention over here!”

“ _Sera, lure the dragon this way!”_ Solas shouted, backing up. Adhlea clambered on a rock as the dragon turned slowly.

She primed the crystal.

“ _HEY, UGLY!”_ The dragon’s head whipped around and glared at her like she was its personal enemy.

Adhlea cocked her head and flared her magic. A few hundred yards away, a boat exploded.

 _Come and get me,_ she was basically saying with her magic.

The dragon lunged, opening its maw once more –

Adhlea chucked the crystal into it as it collected lightning from its stomach.

An explosion detonated, something warm and sticky hitting Adhlea’s face.

She opened her eyes as it thudded to the ground; it was missing half of its throat.

“Holy fucking shit,” Sera gaped.

Adhlea wiped the blood away from her mouth.

“So. That rift,” she said, jumping from the rock and _calmly_ unfolding the now-drenched-with-dragon-blood map. “Shall we be off?”

Solas seemed to be the only one unruffled.

“Taarsidath-an halsaam,” Bull said in the silence of the moment, positively _drenched_ in dragon blood.


	115. Chapter 115

Gatt looked at his companion, his eyes betraying nothing.

“Talan. Have you finished the task assigned to you?”

The _saarebas_ nodded.

“Good. Deliver this to the Inquisitor.”

Talan took the missive. Gatt returned his attention to the hidden dreadnaught below.

~:~

Adhlea was bathing when she felt like she was being watched. Turning as quickly as she could in the water, she spotted a Qunari not two feet behind her.

A Qunari whose lips were stitched together, his hands shackled to each other.

Adhlea swallowed and stepped back, covering her chest.

“I am _bathing,”_ she said, her voice high. “Would you _please_ avert your eyes?”

The _saarebas,_ for she had heard tales and only now realized most of them were actually true, held out his shackled hands, a missive clutched in them.

She reached out with her other hand, grabbing the missive.

A surge in the Fade made her twist back. The Qun male was faster as he grasped her bare wrist with one hand; she felt something slick on his hand. Blood.

 _For the Inquisitor,_ the male’s voice rumbled.

Adhlea jerked her hand back and stumbled back, wide-eyed even as her foot caught and she flailed, falling backwards.

Instead, her wrist was caught again. The smaller mage was jerked forward, slamming into the Qunari’s chest.

For a moment, the duo were frozen.

“Get _away_ from me!” Adhlea pushed off, surging out of the pool, grabbing her small clothes and yanking them on.

Looking back, alarm skittered through her. He was _still watching her,_ two paces away.

She edged away from him.

“BULL!” She shouted _her_ Qunari’s name.

The Iron Bull crashed through the undergrowth, followed by Solas and Syven.

“Hot _damn,_ Boss.” She shot the Iron Bull a glare, only for her eyes to shoot back to the _saarebas._

“Did he attack you?” Solas was deliberately staring at the man. She felt a flash of smugness before she realized that yes, she was _still in her smallclothes._ The _saarebas_ backed away a step.

“He gave me this.” Adhlea showed the missive. “And used blood magic to speak in my mind.”

She rubbed her wrist.

“He must be very talented. Did he sneak up on you, Boss?”

Adhlea flushed. “I thought I’d hear someone.”

“Don’t feel _too_ bad, Boss.” Bull shot her a grin. “When we’re _trying,_ we can be quieter than a Dalish elf.”

 _That doesn’t help me, Bull. That kind of scares me._ Adhlea picked up her leggings and slid them on as Bull walked forward.

“ _This_ is why I take a knife with me in the bath, Sis.” Syven tossed her one of his numerous knives.

“He’s fast,” Adhlea admitted, reluctantly as she caught the knife before getting the rest of her clothes and putting on a tunic. “I wouldn’t have been able to stab him.”

“Yeah, Boss. This is a _saarebas.”_

“No, Bull, _really?”_ Adhlea faked astonishment.

“He can’t talk normally. So they must have figured out a way to connect people with blood magic.” Bull turned to look at her, his hand clamped on the _saarebas’_ shoulder. “Now, what should we do with him? He’s seen the Inquisitor in all her naked glory.”

Adhlea flushed.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want anything to do with blood magic,” Syven said, crossing his arms and flashing Adhlea a smirk. “Unless it’s sexy blood magic or sisterly blood magic.”

“Read the missive,” Adhlea said, rolling her eyes and tossing the letter to Syven before approaching the _saarebas._ The Qunari’s eyes met hers. She closed her eyes and offered the same wrist to him as she opened them after taking the moment to center herself. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Will you continue following me?”

He glanced at Bull, whose expression didn’t change.

“I’d tell her. Boss is willing to be the subject of blood magic; can’t say I’m surprised.”

The mage set his hand on her arm again. _We of the Qun offer you an alliance,_ he informed her.

“They’re offering an alliance,” Syven said to her.

_If you are willing, the Qun are willing to meet with you, Inquisitor. We reside not two miles away from your Blades of Hessarian._

He let her go, his blood glistening on her arm even as he vanished from sight. Bull’s hand closed over nothing but air; the tall Qunari swore.

“Damn _saarebas._ He’s very talented.”

Adhlea shoved her hand in the water, watching the blood fade away into pink mist that only briefly clouded the water before turning. She didn’t head towards the camp; Adhlea tossed a word behind her. “Keep an eye on camp for me. I’m going for a walk.”

“With only a _dagger?”_

“I _am_ a weapon, brother dear!” Adhlea headed off.


	116. Chapter 116

Gaspard spotted Thalia talking with the bandit leader; she looked to be in serious conversation as he approached cautiously, next to a map.

Thalia threw a glance at him as she spoke to the leader, holding up a hand as she nodded to the man, finishing her business with him. The man bent his head, glanced at Gaspard, and walked off, whistling sharply. A mabari bounded after him as Thalia leaned over the map table.

Gaspard approached.

“Inquisitor.”

“Emperor,” she said, coolly; she did not look at him. “Might I ask you why you are here?”

“Not to cause affront, I promise,” Gaspard assured, offering her a quick smile. “Some group called the Chargers are around. They claim to be affiliated with you; I knew you remained here because I saw you with the dragon yesterday eve.”

A look of embarrassment flashed over her face. “Then you probably saw me kill it in the worst way.”

Gaspard chuckled. “It was _unorthodox,”_ he agreed. “Where are your companions?”

Thalia shrugged. “I needed time to think,” she answered, “so I left them at camp. Bull’s probably around.”

“The Qunari?” Gaspard looked around.

“He’s Ben-Hassreth.” Gaspard tossed Thalia a quizzical look. She gave him a dry smile before her attention flicked back to the map. “Qunari spy. He was very upfront about it.”

“And you believe him?”

“Of course,” the Inquisitor said with a snort. “Spies are common in any organization.”

“And you let the spies of others infiltrate your –“ he stopped himself. He had just been about to say _court;_ in essence, that _is_ what the Inquisition seemed to be. A court.

Thalia glanced over at him.

“Our spymaster, despite how well-known she is, knows and watches practically everything. Bull has his loyalties to the Qunari; he may be loyal to the Inquisition. It all depends on the outcome.”

“Outcome of what?” Gaspard felt unsettled. If the Qunari and the Inquisition were clashing, it did not bode well.

Thalia gave him a secretive smile.

“Something I’ll ask you to interfere with,” she said, moving aside. “By my count, I have a day to agree to the Qunari plan and possible alliance. Another day before whatever operation is to be put in motion, and that is the day Bull’s loyalty will be put into motion.” She pressed her lips together. “My brother will be with the Chargers,” she said, her voice lowering for a moment. “I would like to ask you that, if Bull does not do what I hope, to ride in and help us. I do not want the Chargers to suffer for his actions.”

Gaspard glanced down at the map. “What is this?” He pointed to the charcoal circle on the map.

“My Blades told me of the Qun that are camped on this peak.” She pointed on the map, a peak above the circle. “Below the peak, there is most likely a Qunari dreadnought being hidden by _saarebas;_ or mages, in Qunlat. Do not go near it until the day after tomorrow, please; I do not want them to accelerate any plans.”

Gaspard tilted his head. “You do not seem surprised by their actions.”

“My spymaster has long since earned her title,” Thalia responded. “Celene’s surprise was ill-received at Skyhold, by the way.” She stared at the map intently.

Gaspard furrowed his brow minutely; then he recalled it. With a pit in his stomach, he delicately asked her, his expression distant and voice polite. “And what did you do with the surprise?”

“Florianne de Chalons died,” Thalia said, her face hard. Gaspard accepted it, turning to the map; then Thalia spoke again. “Though, I did happen to let in a woman of the same first name.” Gaspard froze. “She is as brilliant as your sister; despite the fact she has no surname now, she does much good for the Inquisition.”

Gaspard swallowed, but dared not ask.

“Oh, for Maker’s sake.” Thalia pushed herself off the table. “I can’t _do_ that. Your sister lives. I spared her life because she was tricked by Corypheus.”

Gaspard looked her in the eyes.

“You,” he said, “make one of the _worst_ players of the Game I have met in a long while.”

“I’m not too concerned about that,” she said, her tone bland. “I don’t hold balls and such because they are ridiculous; if I were to do so, I would do it somewhere _other_ than a military fortress.” She grimaced. “And Josephine would murder me if I held one at the chateau; there are not many places in the Frostbacks where one could hold a ball. Not that the Avvar would be too pleased if I did such a thing, besides.” She looked exhausted. Gaspard had noticed before, but each time it struck him anew. This wasn’t an experienced human who had been trained from birth to navigate politics like Celene; she was a young elf fighting to stay afloat in this very shitty time.

He sighed, nodding.

“Thank you.” He frowned, a thought occurring to him. “Why are you sending your brother with the Chargers?”

Thalia closed her eyes. “I asked him to.” Her voice cracked. “I’m _using my fucking brother to test Bull.”_

Gaspard swallowed, helpless. He did not help crying women, and no matter how friendly he was with Thalia he knew she rejected most human offers of help.

She inhaled, her face clearing forcibly. “Oh, and let’s not forget,” she said, her voice wobbly, “the Qun are testing Bull, too. I don’t _want_ to test him, but I don’t have a _choice._ I have been lenient for far too long; even if it means not having an _in_ with the Qun I don’t want him to go. Him leaving would break Syven’s heart.” Her face scrunched again. “I could be sending Syven to his _death!”_

The elf turned away, shoulders starting to shake.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. How do I HELP?!_

Gaspard swore under his breath. He had no idea how to help.

“My lord!”

 _Thank the Maker!_ Gaspard turned to his lieutenant. “Emperor!” the man knelt for a moment. “Emperor, you have a missive from the Empress back at the camp!”

“You could not have brought it here?” he demanded, acid in his words.

“It just arrived.” The man shifted, nervously.

Gaspard nodded. “Inquisitor. I shall see you soon.”

She nodded, still facing away from him.


	117. Of Near Death Experiences and a Visit With The Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone nearly dies, but it's not Adhlea. I PROMISE.

Dalish turned to yell out her total when she saw the man behind the Inquisitor’s brother. The Charger switched mid-word. “Five to Falon – _watch out!”_

Galifalon went to turn, but the man behind him stabbed the other completely through.

“NO!” Dalish slammed the butt of her staff down on the ground, freezing the human before running over as her fellow elf toppled. She caught him.

Dalish didn’t have a problem with carrying people. Humans were so heavy to her that she needed help; elves tended to be easiest to pick up. However, dead weight generally felt like a thousand stones stacked on top of each other.

Not Galifalon. Despite the amount of resources at Skyhold, for some reason he only felt like… possibly a hundred stones stacked on top of each other.

(Meaning, he was far easier to hold.)

He was bleeding profusely; his breathing was getting quicker and labored.

Dalish hesitated. It was bad for an elf to begin last rites before the final breath was taken. But if she didn’t –

Luckily, the choice – and Galifalon’s body – was jerked from her grasp.

“ _Isa’ma’lin!”_ the Inquisitor cried, cradling him in her lap. Dalish swallowed.

“Should I start last rites?” she asked, louder than she intended.

“No!” The Inquisitor covered Galifalon with half of her body.

“There isn’t much to be done, Inquisitor,” Skinner said, kneeling next to the young man. Even as Skinner spoke, Galifalon’s breathing was slowing.

“There _is_ something to be done,” the Inquisitor murmured, her eyes hardening as she plucked a knife from Galifalon’s arsenal.

“You shouldn’t,” a voice cut in, drawing the Inquisitor’s attention. “It would be far better –“

“I _will not lose my brother,”_ the Inquisitor hissed, a darkness stealing over her expression.

Dalish shuddered, looking away. She’d never seen the Inquisitor look upon someone so darkly. Not even Gereon Alexius.

Then again, this was her _kin._ Dalish closed her eyes.

Blood magic could, if one did not do it _right_ , cut you off from the Fade. Dalish was well-experienced with blood-magic, though; a witch in the wilds of Korcari had used blood magic on her to make Dalish her _pet._ Until The Iron Bull killed her and freed Dalish, Dalish had been treated to _all the uses_ of blood magic.

The witch had a connection with the Fade that was similar to the Inquisitor’s; an undeniable, soul-deep connection. Blood magic used the magic of the user’s blood; relying on it too much would cause the mage’s original connection to the Fade to perish gradually. However, if Dalish used her magic to keep Galifalon from dying, the blood-price would not be as bad. If the Inquisitor did not revive Galifalon from the dead, she would not be cut off.

(It was forbidden to revive the dead in such a way. The Inquisitor knew it, by the look in her eyes; Dalish knew it, the apostate knew it – and yet the Inquisitor was willing to perform an _elvhen taboo._ Only Falon’Din had the power to revive the dead, and he took those lives as his own. Dalish was _intimately_ familiar with that sort of magic, having seen and _helped_ that demented and damned _witch_ take control of the other lives through blood magic. The reason Dalish did not perish with the witch was she’d had enough sense to _survive._ Dalish would not _could not_ help an act such as that, ever again.)

Dalish scooted closer to the elvhen woman and placed her hands on Galifalon’s chest. At the base level, their elemental magic was the same. Dalish was ice-inclined, Galifalon was as well.

Would be better if Dalish had been his sibling, but – well. Beggars could not be choosers.

Dalish pushed her magic into his.

So long as the magic remained, Galifalon was not _truly_ dead.

~:~

Syven Galifalon had a _lot_ of mixed feelings towards his mother. He’d always lied to Deshanna about Helana; them being only four, they had no _reason_ to remember Helana.

Helana had not quite been _kind._ Syven bore no ill will towards her, as he assumed it was a result of her years as a Tevene slave.

Syven had been born Leto Syven Sabrae. Adhlea had been born Adhlea Kerrah Sabrae. Syven had changed his name upon being formally introduced to Keeper Deshanna in Clan Lavellan – Adhlea’s magical outburst had deemed the duo _interesting_ enough to keep an eye on.

Syven hadn’t had a problem with his name, exactly; but when the lady who was his mother occasionally told him ‘your master is waiting, go fetch him tea now Leto’ it did _not_ take a genius to realize that he actually had another sibling named Leto.

(Well, he’d had many theories then. One of them had been an older brother, an older sister, Helana was not actually his mother, or his father [until he met him]. Over the years it’d been shortened and then he thought maybe his mother was utterly insane after all until he met the stranger named Fenris and heard Varaina call him _Leto._ Now, he had proven all but the _one_ theory false.)

He’d changed his name when he was six. He and Adhlea had gotten their _vallaslin_ later on.

And now, as he looked at the woman whom he had not seen in nearly twenty years, there was only one question on his mind.

“Am I dead?”

Helana looked disappointed.

“Why is that the _first_ thing you ask me?” Helana questioned, her voice acidic. “You can ask _any_ question you want of me, yet you ask _that.”_

“It’s a valid question, Helana,” he said, scowling at her.

Helana arched a brow. “Just because we’re in the Fade doesn’t mean you’re not my son,” she warned.

Syven wanted to scoff. “You haven’t been my mother since you died,” he said with a scowl.

Helana nodded. “I wasn’t your mother even before then,” she said, in an observant manner. “Nevertheless, I am here. Not to guide you to the fucking _afterlife.”_ Her lips twisted into a disgusted grimace at those words. “To deliver a gift and a message.”

“A gift and a message from whom?” he demanded, suspicious.

Helana rolled her eyes.

“Do you think _I_ know the answer to that, _da’len_?” she questioned him. “I do not know. All I know is that you are to be given this.”

A blade appeared.

“You are suited for close combat. This is a blade forged from the Fade itself. Its bite is yours to command when you accept its presence.”

He suddenly held it in his hands. Hoarfrost spread across it in a beautiful web.

“And to tell you. Minaeve Boranehn will have a part to play in your continuing journey, but she is not what she seems. Adhlea is set for the Well of Mythal in the Korcari Wilds – see to it she finds her way there. Minaeve is destined for June’s Temple. You must go to Ghilan’nain’s Grove.”

Syven blinked.

“That’s it?” he asked, his voice low. “Just a set of instructions?”

“Did you want an apology?” she asked, her eyes disinterested.

“No,” Syven scoffed. “That’d be too much for _you.”_

“I have made mistakes,” the elf said, smoothing down a Teven-ish dress. “But you are not the one I must apologize to.” Faint regret flickered across her face. “I left my eldest son.”

Syven gritted his teeth. “I’m guessing you don’t give a fuck about your youngest children.”

“I did not say that.”

“You owe us an apology or _something,”_ Syven insisted.

“It would not make you feel better,” Helana replied, standing. “Goodbye, Syven.”

Syven opened his mouth, but he never got the chance to say anything else.


	118. Chapter 118

As soon as she determined the wound closed, she muttered something to Dalish that she didn’t actually hear herself say. Everything was happening in slow motion. Or just so fast that she wasn’t hearing anything; she had an idea that was insane and stupid and she _should not do it_ because Solas would kill her and –

Well, the point was she shouldn’t, but the thrum of anger in her chest roared as she saw Bull fighting someone who almost pierced Krem’s chest with his sword.

Adhlea had nearly sentenced her brother to _die._ Bull had _almost_ not saved his Chargers.

He’d almost chosen to sacrifice the people who were willing to die for him. They hadn’t known.

It was only when Solas had mentioned Syven that Bull had chosen his Chargers; Adhlea could not ask more than what he had given but it still _hurt._

She stood on the bank of the sea, water brushing up against her legs. She took a deep breath, ignoring the sound of hoofbeats coming from her right; Gaspard was _late._

Adhlea raised her left hand, pointing towards the boats.

She pushed at the Fade. Her arm flared up as she used the Anchor, this time to rip open the biggest hole she’d ever seen, save for the Breach.

This one, however, was big enough only to swallow the Qunari dreadnaught and the Venatori smugglers; Adhlea had immense difficulty in keeping it _open,_ let alone stable. The Veil itself resisted her efforts.

Her mouth dried, her arm was splinting in agony and every pulse of her heart sent another wave.

A massive fireball came at her.

An Antivan fire grenade hit it and made it explode; a wave of hot air hit them.

Adhlea stumbled; a cool hand steadied her at her hips while the other cupped her arm.

Something cool raced down her arm, numbing it and making the burden easier.

The Venatori ship sailed into the rift, many being seen abandoning the ship. The lyrium onboard exploded, the ship engulfed in flame as it went into the jaws of the Fade. Adhlea felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise as she directed the Rift to consume the Qunari dreadnaught; something was _watching_ her.

From _inside the Fade._

Something huge, and scary. Something she remembered only a little; something so big and terrifying –

She saw what Solas most likely did not, holding onto her. A flash; a giant spider superimposed on the background of Fade-green, a demon reaching out its hand to consume her.

Adhlea couldn’t help it.

She shrieked as she wrenched her hand from the rift she’d made, the Veil snapping closed with a loud, thunder-like clap.

The Qunari ship was rent in half, one half in the Fade, the other sinking rapidly beneath the waves.

Adhlea was dimly aware of Solas holding onto her, supporting most of her weight.

She shuddered, her eyes wide with pure –

 _“It saw me,”_ she choked out. “It saw me, oh Creators above, _it saw me.”_

“Adhlea,” Solas murmured. “It would be best if you could collect yourself.”

“You didn’t see it,” Adhlea muttered. “It _saw me.”_

Something brushed her leg and she shrieked, jumping away from Solas and frantically brushing off her legs before realizing it was her sodden boot-tops.

She shuddered, hunching her shoulders and folding her hands across her chest before shrieking again as she felt something brush her neck.

 _It’s nothing,_ she wanted to think. _It’s just my hair._

Every brush made her jump, though; as she looked wildly at the camp, she could see their confusion. Even Gaspard and his men looked confused as Gaspard dismounted.

“Inquisitor,” he said. “Apologies for being late.”

He moved forward.

Adhlea took a couple steps back, unable to help it.

“I –“

She stopped as she coughed horribly. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Something wet hit the inside of her hand.

She looked; before it washed away, there was blood.

Adhlea collapsed where she stood, blackness instant.

She did not see Gaspard catch her, or the glare that Solas gave the human.


	119. Chapter 119

Syven’s head was pounding like he’d taken a thousand glasses of ale into his mouth. Dorian’s voice murmured above him. For a moment, he just basked in his favorite human’s voice for a hot minute.

“- and the huntress gave Ghilan’nain life as a halla; thus, that is why Ghilan’nain was named _Mother of the Halla.”_

“Why are you reading Elvhen stories?” Syven croaked. “I swear, if that’s a crack on my face, I’ll kick your human ass, Dorian.”

“I actually _like_ your face,” Dorian snapped back, before a pause rang through the air. “Wait, was that –“

“Yeah, that was our favorite elf keeper,” The Iron Bull sniggered. “Too tired to open your eyes, _kadan?”_

“Mmm-hmm.” Syven swallowed. “Don’t feel like moving, either.”

“Huh. Well, I’ll call Varaina ‘round and see if she can’t hook ya up with some willow bark.”

“That’d be lovely, Bull.” Syven opened his eyes, thanking the Fade that it was dimmed in the hospital ward. “Ugh, Creators.” He squinted in the darkness. “And – sis?”

“The ever-so-lovely Inquisitor collapsed soon after you did,” Dorian said, closing the book he was holding. “You should have seen Solas’ face when her dear, _loving_ husband caught her. It was positively murderous.”

Syven found himself smirking at the thought.

(She was his _sister,_ of course he wants her wrapped up in a blanket for all eternity. However, knowing her ability to break anything, she’d break the blankets and break out of wherever he kept her before proceeding to break _him._ Did not mean he couldn’t feel vicious pleasure when the men that were so _obviously_ attracted to her caused each other grief.)

“Thalia is still unconscious,” Varaina said, appearing out of the gloom. Her eyes glowed. “She’s in a separate room. Solas is her primary healer, due to his knowledge of the Anchor.”

“Mmm.” Syven sat up, drinking the wooden cup of willow-bark tea. “And you?” His eyes met The Iron Bull’s one.

“What about me?” The Iron Bull questioned, looking unusually wary.

“Did you choose?”

Dorian’s brows flew up; The Iron Bull looked hurt; Varaina stepped back while looking between the three of them.

“You knew?” The Iron Bull questioned, roughly.

Syven set down the wooden cup, levelling a glare at him.

“You can’t expect me to play dumb,” he scolded the other. “I knew. I _had_ to know. My sister isn’t too keen on throwing people in battle blind. Why do you think I went with the Chargers?”

“She didn’t say a _word_ about your presence there,” Bull said, looking utterly horrified.

“Oh.” Syven tilted her head. “Well, she had her reasons.”

“What are you two talking about?” Dorian questioned, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, just the fact my sister sent me with the Chargers, who would all be sacrificed depending on Bull’s choice.” Syven was glad his voice was steady.

“She did _what.”_ Dorian’s voice was toneless.

“It was the only way for him to make an unbiased choice,” Syven explained coolly. “It was either the Inquisition or the Qunari. A choice that had to be made. She didn’t make that choice li –“

“You could have _died.”_ Dorian looked pissed. And, oddly enough, Syven had to give the Tevene a grin.

“Nah, Sis wouldn’t’a let me. Even if she had to let the Chargers fall, she used blood magic to save my life. She could’a brought me back.”

Dorian looked disturbed.

The Iron Bull gave a short laugh, his face clearing for a moment.

“Nah, I would’ve killed her for it.”

 _You wouldn’t have needed to._ Needing the Anchor or not, bringing back the dead was a taboo that even Adhlea wouldn’t cross.

_Right?_

He cursed the niggling doubt in his mind. _No, she wouldn’t._

“You wouldn’t have had to,” Syven muttered. “Blood mage or not; bringing back the dead is a line even she wouldn’t cross.” He wished, oh, he _wished,_ he absolutely _knew_ she wouldn’t cross that line.

~:~

Hearing her brother’s conviction made Adhlea bite her lip.

 _You’re wrong,_ she thought to her brother. _If I had my magic then, I would have brought Deshanna back._

She moved away from the door, glad it was nighttime. She did not go to Solas, though she did see him in the Rotunda below. Instead, she glided up the stairs, ignoring the sentinels that greeted her absently, and walked up to Leliana. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to be wearing hospital garb at this point, but honestly, Adhlea needed a full meeting with her Inner Circle; a meeting that did _not_ include Solas.

She could no longer ignore her _own_ inner voice. Solas was hiding something big; it was just she didn’t know _what._

Aelon might be a bigger problem, but Adhlea just had to be discreet.

“Hello, Inquisitor. How might I be of service?” Leliana’s eyes met hers. Adhlea took a piece of unused parchment and began writing on it.

“I just woke up. You looked like you could use the company,” she said, outwardly calmly.

_We must send Solas away for a while._

Leliana’s sharp eyes met hers, but the spymistress simply nodded.

“I do enjoy tea, if that’s something you might be interested in.”

“Not this late,” Adhlea murmured back. “Perhaps a small game of Wicked Grace?”

 _Where?_ Leliana questioned.

“Ah, no, thank you, Inquisitor. I try not to play too often. Josie wins far too often.” She let out a light laugh.

_The elvhen artifacts. He could go search for them._

Leliana nodded again.

“Speaking of relationships,” Leliana continued, “how are you and Solas doing?”

“Wait – you are _admitting_ you and Josie are in a relationship?” Adhlea flashed her a smirk before answering. “Solas and I are fine, thank you.”

“You see each other in the Fade a lot, according to the rumors,” Leliana hummed.

“Yes.” Adhlea hated to do this, but there was more at stake than anything. _I want all that do not belong out of this organization._

Leliana smirked at her.

_I can do it._

“Ma’am,” one of Leliana’s spies said, Adhlea slamming her head down on the page as though she were frustrated, “a missive for you.”

“Duty calls,” Leliana murmured.

“I’ll leave you to it.” She took the piece of parchment, quietly folding it before heading back to her rooms, never once glancing down to see if Solas was looking up.

~:~

Leliana accosted the Inquisitor.

“I’m sorry, but the meeting you want will have to wait.” She spoke quickly and quietly, a smile plastered on her face. “The Warden has returned with Warden Stroud. They requested your presence; I’ve listened to them and have begun assembling a marching army to the Adamant Fortress. I apologize it that’s a bit presumptuous –“

“Leliana, I don’t really care about where you send my army right now,” the Inquisitor interrupted. “Maker above, I’ve been worried what to do about them. The mayor of Crestwood?”

“Found him, sent him to Anora with a letter and an escort – Orlesian, just to be clear, with full backgrounds checked. I’ll compile a list with help from the soldiers I know I can trust to send to the keeps Anora has graciously given us.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “I’ll expect a full report when it’s done,” she said, sternly. “In the meantime, I don’t care what is done. Just – please, don’t let the spies already in the Inquisition know.”

Leliana nodded her head in affirmation.

“No, Leliana, I don’t want you to stop Josephine, I want you to get her to slow down,” the Inquisitor suddenly said in a low, but far more audible voice. “I cannot have my best ambassador burning out. If she needs to split her duties, that is fine.”

“She won’t like that.” Leliana was glad the Inquisitor had recognized Josie’s efforts.

“Tell her it’s an order from the Inquisitor.” The Inquisitor gave her a stern look. “I _need_ Josie. If she can pass it to someone else, have her do it. If you’ll excuse me?”

Leliana let her pass, watching as Solas passed the doorway, nodding at the Inquisitor with a smile.


	120. Chapter 120

Blackwall wanted to pass out as the Warden entered the Judgement Hall with Warden Stroud; neither paid him much attention as they stood before Adhlea.

“Doshiel,” the Inquisitor said, a smile on her wan face. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” the Warden said, before waving her hand towards Stroud. “This idiot needs to ask you something, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor nodded towards the other Warden. The Inquisitor, after they’d returned, had started putting on the masks that folded effortlessly to her face again. It was sudden, but nobody questioned her.

“Lady Inquisitor,” started the Warden, “Manvena has told me of your current issues with an archdemon on the loose. The Wardens at Adamant normally would offer their aide, if they weren’t focused on such foolish things as they are now.”

Blackwall felt like ice was sliding down his body.

“And what foolish things would they be focused on?”

“Blood magic rituals,” answered Stroud, “that bind the will to the user absolutely. I know not the extent of damage, Lady Inquisitor, but…” here, he hesitated.

“Spit it out, Stroud,” _Manvena_ snapped, her eyes flashing angrily.

“A Tevene mage has offered this magic to the Wardens, and they have accepted such a thing. Warden-Commander Clarel has gone absolutely fucking insane, and I need your help to stop her,” finished Stroud. “I cannot guarantee the loyalty of the rest of the Wardens, but should you desire we can invoke the Rite of –“

“No,” the Inquisitor hastily said, interrupting him as the people in the hall watched with horrified eyes. “No,” she said, far more calmly. “No need for the Rite of Conscription. We will aide you.”

“Thank you,” the Warden said, looking utterly relieved.

The Inquisitor waved her hand. “We shall discuss the particulars in my War Room. Was there anything else you wished to discuss with me?”

“Yes,” _Manvena_ said, stepping forward. “While it is against your policy, our policy is that, when facing a threat like an archdemon or something of that ilk, we may call upon one to uphold the sanctity of our people if they are awaiting trial. One such person who was called the last time was unable to complete the ritual. He fled after his master’s death and remains at large under an assumed name.”

The Inquisitor arched a brow. It was visible above her mask.

“And who might that be?”

“Thom Rainier,” Manvena said, turning; a horrible smile ghosted across her face, “under the name Blackwall.”

The Inquisitor arched a brow as a few gasps were heard. Blackwall swallowed.

“His crimes include…” The Warden kept staring at him, her eyes cold and angry as she listed his crimes.

He remained rooted to his space, looking between the Inquisitor – who stared at him with seemingly cold detachment – and Manvena, who finished several long moments later with a chipper _desertion of the Wardens_ charge.

“I see.” The Inquisitor tilted her head. “Guards, take Rainier to the dungeons. I shall deliver judgement upon him soon.”

Blackwall closed his eyes.


	121. Morrigan II

Solas blinked at the orders.

“You wish for me to leave and turn these elvhen artifacts on?” he checked, dubious.

“Please,” Adhlea requested. “We’ve heard reports of demons getting out of control; if you mark where the rifts are, I’ll find them after I deal with Adamant.”

“Very well,” Solas said, resting against the back of his chair. “What brought this on?”

“The Arlathvhen,” the Inquisitor murmured, furrowing her brow and looking down. “My Keeper… she did not consult the rest of the clans when she married me off to Gaspard. The Arlathvhen takes place in a half-year’s time; if we do not get most of the damn rifts shut, I cannot prove to them I was not responsible for the end of the world.”

Solas tilted his head, staring at her for a moment. She was lying to him.

About what, he could not tell. He assumed it was a Dalish issue; he had no reason to pry, so he didn’t.

“Who shall be accompanying me?”

“Minaeve has, surprisingly, agreed. My clan sister, Syghimye, has also agreed. I’m still looking for any other elvhen volunteers.”

“I could take Aelon,” he suggested.

Adhlea glanced up at him, a wry half-smile upon her face. “I’d allow that, if he wasn’t the only person keeping my brother from getting into trouble. He’s still not fully healed; Aelon is ensuring his well-being.”

She looked suddenly guilty, standing from her perch on his desk.

“Is something the matter, _vhenan?”_ Silly question, but he knew from experience it took much to pry even the simplest of worries out of his heart.

She stopped in the middle of the room, looking far up at the ceiling.

“Have you ever…” she paused. “Have you ever used blood magic?”

“Once,” Solas confessed. “It was not a moment I would repeat.”

“No,” she said, throwing him a smile for a moment. “My brother said I would not commit the taboo.” She folded her arms before her and hunched over.

“That… must be a Dalish thing. I don’t know –“

“We cannot bring back the dead with blood magic,” Adhlea murmured, freezing him. “Bringing the dead back gives you a power over them. For all intents and purposes, they are yours.” Adhlea moved away from him. “Dalish anchored him to life by entwining her magic with his. He would have _died,_ and I would have –“

She clenched her teeth.

“You would have done it anyway,” Solas surmised quietly.

“You must be disgusted,” Adhlea said, still not looking at him.

“I am, admittedly, a bit _surprised._ I thought you spent many years away from him.” Solas frowned.

“He was there when I used blood magic for the first time,” she muttered. “Well, not _there,_ but he kept me safe from my father. He alone could stop the nightmares.” She rubbed her arms. “And it isn’t just that. _I_ sent him to the Chargers. If he had _died…”_

 _Guilt._ She had made Bull choose, and she was feeling guilt over using blood magic when it _possibly_ could have been averted.

He sighed quietly. “You could not have anticipated The Iron Bull’s choice, nor could you control your brother. We cannot change what happened; what I can do is say what you did _after_ healing your brother was reckless. The Inquisition can not afford to lose the Anchor.”

“I’m well aware,” she said, looking at him with sad eyes. “I shall endeavor to be more careful, Solas.”

Solas stood as she wandered to a shelf. She thought he was not planning on speaking; well –

“ _Vhenan,”_ he breathed, gently turning her and resting his forehead upon hers, tangling a hand into her hair and ignoring the pang in his heart as he felt her _vallaslin_ marking her as Mythal’s, “I do not think I could afford to lose _you.”_ He pulled her closer to him, gently; letting her come as close as she desired but never pushing her further.

It surprised him, how honest he was being with her now. He knew he should not keep on doing this, reassuring her; he would break her heart even more. He _knew_ this. But he couldn’t _help himself._

Her grey eyes met his; there was doubt in them.

“Don’t be silly,” she whispered back. “I’m certain you could find another to love.”

“Out of everyone I have known,” he told her lowly – and honestly – “there is but one I have felt such love for. And she was not _you.”_

No; Adhlea was certainly not Mythal. Solas did not _need_ another Mythal.

He loved Adhlea.

She closed her eyes. “Solas,” she breathed, “can I trust you?”

He sighed. _She knew something._

“Yes,” he promised her. “Everything I do, I do for the People. For _you.”_

Not exactly in the way she was thinking, perhaps. But it rang with truth nevertheless.

“I’ll believe you,” she murmured.

A door opened. Neither paid any attention to it – not until –

“Am I interrupting something?”

~:~

Adhlea jerked her entire body out of Solas’ embrace.

“No,” Solas said, calmly. Adhlea could feel the heat on her face as Gaspard stared at Solas; she wondered how Solas could be so _calm._ “Lady Inquisitor sought reassurance.”

She avoided looking at Gaspard as she cleared her throat.

“Emperor,” she said, staring at a wall not even remotely close to said human, “you’re still here.”

“I stayed only to ensure you survived,” Gaspard replied, his voice wintry. “Why is Celene here?”

Adhlea and Solas (she saw him in the corner of her eyes) turned to Gaspard with truly confused faces.

“What?” Adhlea questioned, anxiety sharpening her tone. _Celene’s in Halamshiral, isn’t she –_

“You don’t fool me, Adhlea,” Gaspard said, annoyance flashing across his face. “How long has my sister been in Skyhold?”

“I’m not playing, Gaspard,” Adhlea told him, quietly. “I did not know she was here.”

“I just saw her with Briala,” Gaspard said, his annoyance slowly dawning into shocked confusion. “You didn’t know.”

“I had _no_ idea Briala was here,” Adhlea said, irritation slipping into her voice. “Where did you see her?”

“In the lower town area.”

“There’s a –“ Adhlea stopped, her confusion at his last statement clearing. _“Oh._ That’s not a town, Gaspard – that’s where the rest of the Inquisition is located.”

Surprise flashed across his face. “You mean in the two years you have been established, _this_ has been your sole base?”

Adhlea’s face went hot. “Well, when I’m leading this entire organization the best I can due to all the _issues_ I’ve had to attend to _personally_ there’s not much time to request a list of places that monarchs would be willing to give to an organization headed by an _elf,_ so yes, _Gaspard,_ this hold has been the _sole_ base of the Inquisition.” She turned to Solas, who was watching this with a neutral expression on his face. “If you’ll excuse me, Solas, I’ve got to find the Empress.”

“I can find her easily,” Gaspard said, standing upright; Adhlea clenched her teeth together for a moment.

“Of course,” she said, with the fakest, most tolerant smile she could muster. “ _Please,_ do accompany me.”

She stepped past him.

They exited Skyhold quickly, using the gardens. She nodded to the humans and elves there; Mother Giselle bowed her head politely at her and gave Gaspard a curtsy. None dared to stop them – most likely because they strode past too fast for them to be stopped.

At the back of the gardens, a door leading to a long staircase down to the barracks for the soldiers and mages opened for them. The scouts nodded respectfully at Adhlea before returning to their duty and slamming the doors shut behind her.

“You are mad,” Gaspard called from behind her as they descended the stairs.

“Not at you,” she called back. “Mostly at Briala and Celene.”

“Well, Celene was in Halamshiral three days ago, from her missive. Would take hard riding for her to get here,” he called back.

Adhlea paused, turning to look at Gaspard.

“And we both know Celene wouldn’t do that,” she said when he was two steps above her. “She would take her lovely time, because she has _all the time in the world.”_

“I’m not certain of what Celene would do anymore,” Gaspard admitted.

“I highly doubt Celene would come without an entourage, let alone no announcement,” Adhlea replied to him coolly, turning from him and continuing down.

“You say you are not mad, but your action say otherwise. Is it because I interrupted you and… your lover?”

“No,” Adhlea lied. “Look, we’re here. And…” A crowd was gathered around one of the barracks. The mages one. And a very much _unwelcomed_ guest. “Oh, _fuck._ Why is _Morrigan_ here?”

“ – don’t we ask the darling Inquisitor, then?” Morrigan was trying to charm Allana, whose face was completely hostile. “ _She’d_ welcome me.”

“I let you bring your giant-ass mirror onto the grounds, lady,” an Inquisition guard said, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Why don’t you and your companions find somewhere _else_ you can mooch, eh?”

“Fuckin’ Orlesian nobility,” called out a rather bold voice.

“This situation is not going to resolve itself easily,” Gaspard muttered.

Adhlea whistled, loud and piercing.

Heads turned.

“Please, move aside,” she requested, politely, “and please refrain from insulting the Empress.” Murmurs spread before they ceased, the crowd parting as Adhlea walked forward. She did not look at her soldiers or the people who had come to be with their loved ones; instead, she kept her eyes on the human witch bitch. “Witch,” she said, her voice full of ice.

“Darling _Inquisitor,”_ Morrigan purred. “I brought a lovely mirror for you. Something I thought you’d appreciate.” She waved her hand at the covered, large mirror behind her. Adhlea had no doubt the witch had esoteric magics for it to not leave behind any tracks; she ignored that for a moment to stare icily at the woman for a moment longer.

Then she dismissed her presence.

“Empress Celene. I was unaware you were coming.”

“Must I announce myself in my own lands?” the Empress questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“Considering that whilst the Inquisition resides here, in the Frostbacks, in _my lands_ – yes, Empress, you must.” Adhlea gave her a pretty smile. “Unless, of course, you’re not the _real_ Celene, who, after all, is in Halamshiral.”

Celene’s lips tightened.

“Might we speak of this elsewhere, Your Worship?” Briala questioned, stepping forward with a pleading gaze. “Empress Celene must give you grave news from the capital.”

Adhlea bit back a sigh.

“Come to Skyhold, then,” she forced out, whipping around and sliding past Gaspard.

“Aren’t you going to offer to help me with the mirror, Inquisitor?” called up Morrigan.

“You brought it here yourself, Witch,” Adhlea called back, giving her a bland smile over her shoulder. “Surely a few steps wouldn’t kill you!”

She started up the grand staircase, giggling as there were like two hundred steps. Easy for a Dalish warrior to accomplish.


	122. Chapter 122

Okay, well, Adhlea _wasn’t_ a Dalish warrior. She was a Duchess who admittedly ran more on her life being threatened than she did when she wasn’t being threatened.

Adhlea stumbled into the gardens, her lungs on fire.

“You should sit, darling,” Vivienne said from a bench.

Adhlea jumped with a small scream.

“Oh, please, darling, it’s just me,” Vivienne chided.

“I _know,”_ Adhlea rasped. “Did you need something?” She took the woman’s advice, knowing that Morrigan wouldn’t be arriving for a while. And, well. She can _breathe._

“Yes.” Vivienne’s voice was calm. “I need a snowy wyvern’s heart. For Bastien.” Vivienne pressed her hands together. “After Adamant, I was wondering if you and I could go visit Emprise du Lion – should we survive Adamant, that is.”

“Of course.” Adhlea tapped her thigh. “I hope this isn’t too much of a bother, but I will be bringing Cole with me to Adamant.”

Vivienne made a face of disgust.

“Vivienne,” Adhlea sighed.

“Darling, I can only promise to stomach his presence as long as he is necessary,” Vivienne replied with a sigh. “You should go inside Skyhold. You wouldn’t want to seem out of sorts when the witch comes up.”

Adhlea smirked. “Oh, don’t you worry about _me,_ Vivienne.” She stood and walked over to the sentry. “When that woman down there,” she gestured down the steps, where a blob could be seen coming up, “gets here, I would like you to take your time getting to me and getting back.”

The sentry nodded. “As you wish, Your Worship.”

Adhlea beamed at her and darted inside Skyhold.

~:~

Morrigan stormed into the hold, accompanied by Celene and Briala. The mirror remained in a spot just outside the garden; the Inquisitor looked rather bored as she looked up from some documents on her leg.

“Oh, Morrigan,” she said with a polite smile. “Empress Celene. Briala. Took you quite a while to get up that staircase.” She set whatever document she held to the side. Morrigan paid no attention to it, but Celene stepped forward with narrowed eyes.

“Inquisitor,” she said, her voice curt. “You rejected my summons.”

“I am independent of you, Celene. Which brings me to the reason you’re here.” The elf tilted her head; Morrigan bit her tongue to not offend the Empress or this strange elf. It was… Odd, to say the least, that the elf had a _presence_ about her.

A _presence_ that almost _whispered_ in Morrigan’s ears; that if Morrigan could just listen the right way, she could _hear._

But no matter what, Morrigan just _couldn’t_ understand the whispers.

“Who is the imposter sitting upon the Sunburst Throne?”

The Inquisitor’s blunt question made the trio flinch. Morrigan hadn’t expected it; Celene had tried to keep her presence silent, everywhere she went; Briala had been _known_ to have lost Celene’s – the fake Celene, anyway – favor.

“How?” Celene asked, faintly. “How did you figure it out?”

Seeing as the Inquisitor had a mask on her face, Morrigan could not read her face.

However, she was certain the elf was fighting not to roll her eyes, given the minute twitch of her eyes.

“No offense, Empress, but I’m not _stupid,”_ the elf drawled, leaning back in her chair and throwing a leg over the other. “Your fake would _have_ to be visible. Also, even with magic, unless you’re riding alone on a toughened hart, you cannot make it to Skyhold in three days. So, the one on your throne would have to be a imposter, though truth be told I know not a soul would be stupid enough to steal _your_ throne.”

A strange half-grin was on the elf’s face.

“It isn’t a human,” Celene said, barely audible.

“Empress,” Morrigan implored.

“Enough, Morrigan. No attacks of yours damaged it.” The Empress held her head up high. “It is a demon sitting upon the throne.”

“A demon of envy,” Morrigan clarified. “They are vile creatures; it can mimic everything a person is. I fended it off to get the Empress out.”

“Why did it not kill Gaspard?” questioned the Inquisitor, her eyes sharp. “Or Celene?”

“Because that’s not what its purpose is,” a boy said, appearing out of nowhere. The Inquisitor turned her head to look at him; Morrigan shuddered at the feel of this boy. He felt… well, the problem was he _didn’t_ feel like anything. It was similar to the Fade, except… there was a pinprick of emotion that made this boy who he was.

“Then what is this demon’s purpose, Cole?”

Morrigan flicked her eyes at the… _warm_ tone of the Inquisitor. As though…

“Not to kill if it doesn’t have to,” Cole said. “Solas can tell you more when he returns.”

“He’s left _already –_ oh, I shouldn’t worry about that now. Right. I’ll talk to him later, I suppose,” the Inquisitor muttered. “Celene, it will be about a month before I can worry about your issue.”

“What issue takes precedence?!” the Empress cried. “The longer I am not on the throne –“

“ _Oh, shut up already, you’re giving me a headache.”_ The boy’s unnerving blue eyes met Morrigan’s, before they dropped and looked up at the Inquisitor, who giggled.

“Oh, Cole. I love you, but really. My thoughts about the Empress should be our little secret.” The Empress gasped in outrage; Morrigan idly wondered how big a hole the Inquisitor was going to dig for herself. “With all due respect, Empress, it’s obvious the only bad things your imposter is doing is alienating the elvhen population even more. _Not_ a smart idea, Empress; and yes, I know I dig myself a hole for what I say. You can punish me if I survive the Adamant Fortress, let alone Corypheus.”

“And how would your human child know of your thoughts?” Morrigan asked, shrewdly.

The Inquisitor’s smile turned sly. “Well, that depends on your definition of _human,_ ” the elf said, voice silky. “Cole is a spirit of Compassion; at least, what Solas told us –“

“It’s a _demon?”_ Celene asked, her voice high.

Heat blanketed the area.

“Cole,” the Inquisitor said, her voice ice despite the smile still on her face, “is a _spirit,_ and he is a _he._ While you’re in my home, address him as such.” The Inquisitor removed her leg from its position, setting it down on the ground flat. “With that said, Calia will show you to any available quarters. When I get back, I’ll have the mirror placed… Somewhere where it isn’t readily available. I really _am_ busy, Empress, so if you’ll excuse me I have a meeting with my advisors.”

The elf stood and gathered up her parchment papers, stalking through a door that probably led to the War Room.

Morrigan blinked, not seeing…

 _What was I looking at?_ She remembered, if only a little bit, a boy of some kind.

~:~

He was planning on telling her what their mother said, but as he watched her defend Cole… He couldn’t. He couldn’t go through with it.

Whatever his mother said, he didn’t think the dead should dictate the living.

He rubbed a hand over the nonexistent scar. Minaeve… Minaeve didn’t deserve to be given a destiny she might not be ready for.

Syven turned, slipping out of the area before anyone took notice of his appearance.


	123. Chapter 123

The night before they set out, Adhlea spoke to her brother.

“I’m sorry, brother. I need you and Dorian here, to hold Skyhold together. Enaste is coming with, so it _should_ be a guaranteed win.” She smiled at him.

Syven folded his arms. “I don’t want you to go.”

Skyhold was silent, the majority of the Inquisition army gone.

“There’ll be plenty to do while we are gone,” she assured him, shoving the last of her armor into the saddlebags. “Leliana needs to draw up lists of soldiers being sent to the keeps that Queen Anora is giving us; you just need to be the Keeper to our clan and watch over the remaining mages.”

“Is Allana here?” He looked resigned.

“No.” Adhlea shook her head. “Allana’s ability to explode anything and everything should come in handy on this battlefield.”

He sighed.

“Well, I guess this means lots of sex with Dorian~” he trilled. “Wait, is the Iron Bull going with you?”

Adhlea shook her head. “He was dispatched to the Emerald Graves to handle some demons – I thought the Chargers could use the vote of confidence. Yenera’s with them; Sera is with me, along with Vivienne, Cole, and Varric. Hawke’s coming because I don’t control her, Fenris is going because Hawke is, Elaine’s staying for the mages… Most of the Inner Circle is either on different missions or non-combatants, and those that are going are pretty positive that they’ll make it out alive.” She gave her brother a wan smile. “With luck, we’ll be back with a rousing tale of victory.”

“I don’t like it,” Syven admitted. “What if this is a trap?”

“Then we shall spring it,” Adhlea murmured. “I’m going in with Warden Stroud and Doshiel.”

“You let Ranier go with you,” her brother noted, sliding a knife in the bag. Adhlea shrugged as she tied two staves to it.

“Why not?” she asked. “If he dies, he dies. If he flees, I’ll have Leliana drag his corpse back.”

Syven made a face.

“I’ll leave you to your packing,” he said, withdrawing another weapon. “For luck.” He tossed the sharp weapon to her.

She caught the weapon by the blade, with a sharp grin that was matched by him.

“My enemies will taste my blade.”

~:~

Minaeve bit her lip as she watched Solas work, Syghimye off watching the entrance of the temple. The three were in the Forbidden Oasis; a few other Inquisition workers were out and about, but for the most part they left the three elves alone.

Solas was looking over the ancient elvhen artifact.

 _What should I do?_ Minaeve twisted a ring on her hand nervously, a ring she’d had crafted soon after going to Skyhold. In the Circles, only items that were clearly explained were allowed to the mages. Minaeve wouldn’t have been able to explain an innocent ring.

~~Minaeve couldn’t explain _herself._~~

She twisted it. Harritt had questioned her about it, Cullen had questioned her about it, but both had at least dropped the subject when she said it was extremely personal.

It wasn’t a lie. It _was_ extremely personal.

Just… probably not what they’d expect.

“Doing okay in here?” Syghimye entered the doorway.

“Nearly done with this one,” Solas said, crisply. “If you can leave, I’ll activate it when I’m done.”

“I’m heading back to camp,” Minaeve blurted as soon as he was done, standing up and rushing out of the temple. It had a foreboding vibe to it; the mage couldn’t help but worry.

This was _not_ what she thought would happen. Then again, being a side character who was supposed to die in Haven didn’t pan out like she’d thought, so there was _that._

Minaeve still felt like Fen’Harel was one of the reasons she was _here._


	124. Chapter 124

Cassandra saw the Dalish warriors huddling apart from the main bulk of the army as they travelled between camps to ensure their willingness. Wills were being written, last laughs being tossed around – this all had the chilling feel of a last hurrah for many of these warriors.

Tomorrow, they’d travel and attack at night.

“What is our surprise?” Cullen asked, once the main Circle set up their tents. Sera looked positively chipper, even though the Inquisitor had expressly forbidden her interference with the army, as in no pulling juvenile pranks on them.

“Our surprise is our winning hand,” the Inquisitor chirped. “If the archdemon dragon is there, she’s also its match.”

“I don’t understand,” Hawke said after a pregnant pause. “Do you have a dragon, or two?”

“One,” grinned their Inquisitor. “Her name is Grace.”

Cassandra knew that smile.

“In Elvhen, that’s what her name means, yes?” Cassandra clarified.

“Yep!”

Varric laughed. “I knew she was weird, but I didn’t think she could do _that.”_

“Why do you think she went with Cullen and Minaeve?” the Inquisitor questioned. “Those like her study their chosen creatures.”

Cassandra tilted her head. “You speak of Enaste. That is what her name means?”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Yes. In Elvhen, Enaste’s name means ‘grace’. Or ‘by the grace of’, depending on the context; Mythal’enaste means ‘by the grace of Mythal’. However, that is neither here nor there; Enaste can turn into a dragon.”

“Theoretically,” said elf chirped as she stepped up to the meeting spot. “I’ve never actually done it. Stroud finished the drawing of the fortress; the elves can slip in undetected through here.”

Cassandra leaned over the map. “And what should the Inquisitor do, walk up to the front door?” Her voice was thick with sarcasm.

“I was actually thinking she could lead the team sneaking in,” Enaste replied, with a shrug. “Vivienne, Cole, and Sera could all slip in with the group. I’ve got several volunteers.” She glanced at the Inquisitor.

“It’s a good plan,” she said, looking reluctant, “but we don’t know the extent of what’s happening. Can you two enter through the gate easily?”

“It’d take some convincing,” Doshiel said with a shrug, “but as long as my breath smells like alcohol then I can do whatever. Distracting them will be easy.”

~:~

_I hate this place._

Stroud had a firm grip on her body, having twisted her arm back to the point of nearly breaking it. The Inquisition army was still sneaking in; scouts had scouted the area around. By now the Inquisitor would be slipping underneath the Adamant Fortress.

Doshiel felt an oddness in the air, one that wasn’t there the last time she’d been here. Remembering her first visit seemed like a terrible dream.

(probably didn’t help that she’d tried to drink away all the memories she had of this accursed place)

Now, the simple feel of the air was insidious, malignant. Powerful blood magic stung her nose, a peculiar smell to her as she really hadn’t realized one could _smell_ blood magic.

It wasn’t like the Inquisitor, who had knowingly performed it only once since Doshiel had met her. She felt normal.

This air… It reeked of blood, the scent of which brought Doshiel back to her own near-death – Anora’s timely arrival after the archdemon had been slain had saved Doshiel’s life. 

“Much blood has been spilled here,” Stroud muttered.

“You can smell it, too?” Doshiel muttered back.

“I’m not surprised you can, but it is faint to me. Ready to play your part?”

“Yes.”

The Wardens ahead of them opened the doors together, in synch. Doshiel swallowed when she saw their eyes were glazed.

“This was a bad idea,” she muttered before Stroud shoved her into the room. Doshiel went sprawling onto the carpet.

“Stroud,” Warden-Commander Clarel said, her voice strong. “You’ve come back at last.”

“Is he not the traitor you said he was?” a mage – a non-Warden – asked, a superior look on his face.

_I did not want to come back here._

“Perhaps he has a good excuse for perceived actions,” Clarel said, looking hopeful. “Warden Stroud may not be a mage, but he _is_ a dedicated fighter.”

“Non-mages have no place here,” the Venatori mage said, striding up to Doshiel. “But who are you, elf?”

Doshiel spat in his face. The mage remained calm; Doshiel saw stars as he whipped the end of his staff across her face.

“This is Manvena,” Stroud said, sounding shaken. “The Warden who slayed the last archdemon.”

“A worthy sacrifice,” the Venatori bastard said.

“Andruil, guide my blade into my enemies’ heart,” Doshiel muttered, not touching her face. “Sylaise, protect me against his rage. Mythal, guide my protector to me.”

“What are you doing?” Clarel demanded as the Venatori man took a knife. “You cannot – she is a _renowned_ hero!”

“Who has abandoned her duty as a Grey Warden. Stroud will share her fate,” the Venatori mage spat, his staff lighting up in response to his agitation.

“Falon’Din, guide me into the afterlife –“ Doshiel began as the man neared her, only to stop as an arrow whizzed by.

“You leave her alone!” Sera shouted. “Or I’ll plug up your fat arse with _arrows.”_

She sounded perversely delighted about the possibility of doing that.

“I’m afraid you’re too late,” the Venatori man countered, his eyes latching hatefully on Doshiel. “You were spoken of as a proud warrior. I bet your fellow Wardens would be disgusted at how far you’ve fallen.”

“Well, I can’t ask most of them,” Doshiel said with a grin. “Most of them are dead.”

She lunged, springing up and into the man’s robe-laden form. The elf Warden slammed the top of her head to the man’s chin before slamming a knee into his soft spot.

Knowing that it didn’t affect the Venatori man as much as he played it up, she yanked the staff away from him, throwing it aside.

He recovered, running at her with the knife aimed to kill.

“Arrows!” Sera called.

The Venatori man stumbled, yelling in shock. He fell to the ground, an arrow through one leg and one buried in his shoulder with the knife.

“Arrows, arrows, _arrows!”_ Sera giggled.

“Sera, please don’t murder the man,” the Inquisitor’s voice, grand and echoing, was heard. “We _do_ need him alive. Warden-Commander Clarel, I am Inquisitor Lavellan. Ritual sacrifice is forbidden in Orlais and Ferelden.” Doshiel plucked the knife from the wounded magister, looking over to see the Inquisitor with throwing daggers in her hands.

“Thief,” the Venatori mage gasped out. “The Elder One will have no mercy upon you!”

The Inquisitor snorted. “If I flipped out every time I heard that, I’d be dead already.”

“I did not mean for this to happen!” Clarel blurted. “We needed a bigger defense against the archdemons!”

A roar was heard, distantly.

“Yes, employing a Venatori mage to commit ritual murder is _always_ such a good idea,” the Inquisitor muttered, sarcastically. “Come with me, Warden-Commander, and the Inquisition shall show you mercy.”

Clarel hesitated.

“Fool,” the Venatori laughed, looking over his shoulder. “You would let all our work go to waste?”

Clarel seemed to be of that opinion, too. She ran.

“I hate it when they run,” the Inquisitor muttered. “Sera, Cole, Vivienne!”

Without waiting for an answer, the Inquisitor began running after her.

“You have this, darling?” Vivienne enquired, pausing.

“I’m fine,” Doshiel said, kicking the mage in the face. “Stroud, give me my bag. I’ve got magebane in there.”

“Can I shoot him?” Sera questioned, looking hopeful.

“No, go after the Warden-Commander.”

Sera pouted, but left, Vivienne following. Doshiel saw nothing of Cole, but she accepted the magebane potion just as another – this time a different one – roar exploded through the air. She yanked the magister’s head back, practically shoving half the bottle down his throat.

The effects were immediate, the magister’s eyes dulling. Nothing but compliance from him from here on out.


	125. Chapter 125

Cullen swore as the archdemon appeared, flame killing a score of soldiers.

“Watch over this, and clear a dragon-length among your soldiers,” Enaste ordered, shoving her bag at him. “I don’t want to crush anyone.”

“CLEAR A DRAGON-LENGTH SPACE, EVERYONE!” Cullen bellowed. The soldiers currently waiting for their turn to get at the fortress’ broken walls (thank the Maker the Inquisitor had allowed them to bring the mobile trebuchets; otherwise this wouldn’t have worked as a distraction) moved aside.

Enaste stepped into the middle of it, staff in hand; Cullen withdrew his sword. If the dragon came around, he was probably fucked, but –

Enaste’s staff glowed. Fade-green emanated from it before the energy turned to blue.

The orb shattered. Enaste dropped the staff before raising her hands, the shards following the Fade-green-wreathed hands.

The archdemon turned. Cullen bellowed for a trebuchet out of habit, but knew if the archdemon did get to them, even Enaste couldn’t block its fire.

He did not anticipate the elf disappearing with a clap of thunder.

Fire rained down. Cullen called for shields, raising his and crouching.

No blistering heat; Cullen took a risk.

_A dragon stood before them, breathing ice to cancel out the fire._

The archdemon seemed to run out of breath, stopping its attack just long enough for it to swivel around.

Enaste cut her breath off before roaring, a roar that echoed across the battlefield.

Wind bashed their bodies as Enaste lunged up, unbalancing for a moment before righting herself. She took the attention of the archdemon onto herself, an almighty clash between them sparking a jolt to Cullen’s senses. He turned his attention to his soldiers.

“Onward!” he shouted as the gates of the Adamant Fortress opened, releasing Wardens, who shouted as they ran. It was eerie, because there was one universal cry – not like the war cries of his people, who varied in tone and length.

They gave the _same exact war cry._

Cullen could not afford to give them mercy.

With a heavy heart, he started dispatching Wardens.

~:~

Enaste clashed violently with the archdemon. It was odd, and awful, being a dragon for the first time.

(Last time she’d only been half-transformed. It was not pretty.)

She was figuring out everything as she went. The orb thing – she hadn’t expected her staff to _break._ Ugh.

She latched her teeth on the other’s neck, dead blood gushing into her maw.

_Well, if that blood is infected…_

A claw from the archdemon ripped into her belly. Enaste’s jaw spasmed; that was all the archdemon needed to rip itself free from her grasp and turn the tide. The archdemon fastened its jaw on her neck. Enaste screamed, flailing and forgetting to hold her wings out. Enaste slammed against the fortress.

“Foul creature!” an unfamiliar voice screamed. Magic slammed into Enaste and the dragon; Enaste yelped.

“ _Don’t attack the blue dragon!”_ Adhlea’s scream was welcome; the archdemon released Enaste’s neck and stepped off of her. “Attack the archdemon!”

“He is going for _you,_ Inquisitor! The Elder One promised us soldiers to fight the archdemons –“

“Oh, _shut up!_ You attacked my clan-sister, Clarel!”

Enaste gathered her strength as Adhlea flung some fire at the dragon turning over and clumsily grasping the other dragon’s tail while spreading her wings.

While it was clumsy, Enaste figured being a maneuverable dragon was actually easier than being an elf at times – for one, as she tossed herself off, she tossed the other dragon off with her.

Unfortunately, as she did so, the fortress – as ancient as it was - crumbled as they fell.

Enaste didn’t feel herself hit the ground.


	126. The Fade I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last we reach a part I've been dying to share - the Adamant/Fade part. The next few chapters will center on the Fade almost exclusively. Well... actually exclusively.  
> Quick explanation, though: I've so far made the game into my playground through magic stuff because I DON'T KNOW MUCH about Dragon Age magic systems. That being said, I have to admit that I'm also an avid Naruto fanfiction writer and the whole 'magic aura' schtick? That was... I may have been influenced BY Naruto.   
> I hope you enjoy the story so far - wacky magic system aside - and I hope to hear thoughts about what you think of it so far!

Adhlea could only admire Enaste’s dragon form for a moment before they started falling, the ancient fortress finally giving out with a shudder and a loud groan. Clarel screamed before dropping; Adhlea lunged just as the stones fell beneath her.

_NO!_

She felt adrenaline shoot through her body, her left hand automatically reacting. Green light split her world, Clarel being the first to fall through.

Adhlea curled in a ball as she heard shouts behind her, hoping against hope that she’d done it right.

Everything became muffled, as though the outside world no longer existed.

Adhlea opened her eyes. Green greeted her vision – a sort of murky color that was muted and yet sharpened at the same time.

She uncurled, her feet settling gently on the ground.

Turning, she saw Vivienne fall with no grace; Cole was standing as Adhlea was. Sera was jumping at shadows, unnaturally pale.

“Clarel!” Adhlea called out the Warden-Commander’s name, turning and hoping that she’d managed to save her life, too. Sera shrieked.

“ _Hush,”_ Cole implored, sounding terrified. “It’s wrong, this is _all wrong.”_ He sounded close to tears.

“Come here,” Adhlea said, turning to him, holding out her hand. “It’s a human thing,” she explained to him. “When you’re scared, you hold the hand of the person close to you. Mabel taught me.”

Cole hesitated.

“If you don’t do it, I will,” Sera shuddered, inching close to Vivienne.

Cole was suddenly _there,_ touching her hand and looking less like his world had uprooted.

“She’s over there,” Cole murmured, huddling into Adhlea. Adhlea swallowed.

It was awkward, holding Cole’s hand and walking forward, but if it helped the small spirit, she’d do it.

“Thank you,” Cole said.

 _I forgot he could read minds…_ Adhlea felt hot.

“I’ll hold your hand, but only because we should stick together,” Vivienne uttered. “ _Not_ because I’m scared.”

“Oh, you’re as scared as I am,” muttered Sera. “And if anyone has anything to be _not-scared_ about, it’s the spirit and the Fade-Walker.”

Adhlea stopped.

“Oh, dragon piss,” she realized. “ _This is the Fade.”_

“It’s wrong,” Cole muttered, coming closer to her body. “It’s wrong, it’s too real –“

“We’re the first living beings to enter the Fade alone,” breathed Vivienne. “We _must_ survive –“

“Doshiel’s done it, as has Hawke,” Adhlea said, hopefully dissuading Vivienne’s words. “Fenris told me that Hawke won’t talk about it. Even being a mage, she’s not particularly fond of that subject. And Doshiel was a drunkard – not only because of the archdemon, but probably because of something _here._ I’m guessing whatever we see here, we’re not going to want to speak of.”

“Is that why you won’t speak of what happened the last time _you_ came through?” Vivienne questioned, shrewdly.

Adhlea shook her head. “I can’t remember the Fade from last time,” she said, slowly – just realizing it. She could remember _green, spiders, and steps._ Also, a figure that reminded her of Divine Justinia. “I remembered it clearly, when I left it, but now – now I cannot.”

“She’s just through that archway,” Cole said, tugging Adhlea and bringing the elf back to the Fade. “She’s waiting.”

“Clarel is waiting for us?” Adhlea frowned.

“Both of them are,” Cole said, glancing up at her. “Clarel doesn’t know we’re coming.”

Clarel was sitting just past the archway, sitting on a rock and holding her hands above a puddle of water.

Adhlea licked her lips, feeling unsure about this.

“They’re _waiting,”_ Cole insisted, stepping ahead of her and yanking her forward.

Warmth assaulted her senses as she blinked, the barren emptiness that was the Fade replaced with a full Dalish camp, two aravels sitting across from each other. Warden-Commander Clarel sat between two elves.

Two elves that Adhlea knew, with a resounding clarity, were _dead._

Helana Sabrae and Deshanna Lavellan sat across from each other, Helana’s barren face a bizarre sight to Adhlea.

“Others in the Fade?” Sera asked, bumping into Adhlea.

“No,” Adhlea breathed. “They’re not – they’re not alive.”

Cole let her hand go.

Adhlea heard Sera’s squeak.

 _“They’re dead_?!”

Both elvhen women looked up at Sera’s small scream.

Deshanna stood before Helana. Adhlea swallowed convulsively.

“Mamae,” she breathed, before remembering herself and bowing her head to her Keeper. “Keeper Istimaethoriel, I am pleased to see you –“

“Come here, _da’len.”_

Adhlea loved the warmth in that single statement. Ignoring the elf who gave birth to her, Adhlea rushed into her Keeper’s arms.

Deshanna smelled of the forest – of warm nights listening to her speak to the young children, of long nights and quiet reassurances. _Familiarity._

“I’ve missed you, Keeper,” Adhlea murmured.

“And I you, _da’len._ Perhaps you should speak to your mother,” suggested Deshanna. “ _She_ has something to say to you.”

Dislike was prominent in Deshanna’s voice. Adhlea nodded, removing herself from the comfort of Deshanna’s presence and taking a breath before looking to her birth mother.

“Adhlea,” her mother’s crisp, wintry voice said. “You’re alive. I do hope Leto and Varaina didn’t get caught up in the mess you’ve made.”

“She’s worried,” Cole called over. “That her Leto is dead, that Varaina has poisoned you –“

“Enough, spirit.” Helana didn’t deign to toss a glance at Cole.

“Don’t speak to Cole like that,” Adhlea ordered, sharply. “He is honest.” _You’re not worried about Syven or I._

“Varaina hasn’t _poisoned_ me or Syven,” Adhlea bit out, “and _Fenris_ is fine.”

“Their names aren’t _Syven_ or _Fenris,”_ Helana hissed. “They’re –“

“Syven and Fenris,” Adhlea interrupted. “You know traditions of the Dalish. You obviously your ways of watching; you know Fenris lost his memories and you know Syven discarded the name you gave him because you thought he _was_ Fenris.” Adhlea shook her head, disappointed. “I tried to keep the _shem_ name, like he; but I discarded that. I am _Thalia,_ and I have _nothing to say to you.”_

“I am _your_ –“

“No, you’re a memory,” Adhlea said, sad. Even with the others watching (though Clarel was ignoring them), she had to be honest to her birth mother. “Stay there.”

She closed her eyes.

Sera gasped.

“They _are_ ghosts!” she wailed.

Adhlea let out a small, broken laugh.

“Yes,” she sniffled. “Vivienne, Sera, Cole… This is Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan.”

Adhlea glanced to Clarel.

“The Warden-Commander is ignoring what is around her,” Deshanna muttered, pity in her eyes. “Considering what is out there, I am not surprised.”

Adhlea blinked, turning back to her Keeper. “Keeper, what –“

“Hush, _da’len._ You are protected here, for now.” Deshanna waved her hand. “Spirits in the Fade have limited ability, but food is well-within my grasp.” A veritable feast appeared. “Eat, and enjoy. You will not be able to eat again until you leave.”

Deshanna gently pushed Adhlea towards a seat.


	127. The Fade II

Adhlea did not eat much; Deshanna promised safety while they rested in the aravel.

“You’re in love, are you not?”

Adhlea glanced at her Keeper, away from the fire.

“I think so,” she said, looking at her hands. “I am hesitant to trust him; some things have recently come to light that make me no longer trust him as much.”

She glanced back to her Keeper. Faint approval flickered from her Keeper’s eyes.

“You know something, don’t you?”

“It is not my place,” Deshanna said, a look of distaste flashing across her face. “Trust your instincts _and_ your heart, no matter what your mind may say.” Deshanna stood from her log, the clothes she’d died in rustling around her feet. “The Arlathvhen approaches, _da’len._ You must get Isanami on your side. The People will _never_ accept two Keepers if you do not act wisely.”

“I know,” Adhlea whispered. “But… Keeper, I am _scared.”_

She peeked up to the elder, only seeing half of her profile. Deshanna stared at her through the corner of her eye.

“I am scared that you made a mistake. What if I can’t – what if I die against Corypheus?”

Deshanna scoffed. “Corypheus is not the threat you should worry about.”

Adhlea frowned. “I’m – _sorry?_ Corypheus has an elvhen orb –“

“Yes. Yes, he does,” Deshanna interrupted, turning on her heel. “You must not let your lover take the orb. If the orb should survive, you _must_ figure out a way to stop him from taking it. But make no mistake, _da’len,_ Corypheus is your _immediate_ priority _._ You must tell the People that the Veil is falling.”

Adhlea licked her lips. “What?”

“The _Veil is falling,”_ Deshanna repeated. “Artifacts are weakening its hold on the world. The safest place for the People is Skyhold; the humans shouldn’t be adversely affected –“

“Wait, wait – _stop.”_ Adhlea couldn’t understand. “ _Humans_ shouldn’t be affected? What about the Qun, the dwarva?”

“I don’t know _everything,”_ Deshanna sighed. “But if the Veil falls, if the humans aren’t in protected areas – like a magical building – a lot of them _will_ die. The Fade has always strained against the Veil because it is _unnatural._ You know this better than anyone.” Deshanna’s eyes bored into Adhlea’s. “There’s a place in the world to gain the knowledge of protecting the People, but I fear its price might be too much, _da’len._ The Evanuris will not be forgiving.”

_The Evanuris._

“Like – like Andruil, Sylaise, June?” Adhlea asked, her voice faint.

Deshanna tipped her head. “Yes.” She closed her eyes. “I warn you, the price of the knowledge I am parting with you is something you must not tell anyone, until the right time.”

Adhlea nodded. “I swear I won’t say a word,” she vowed.

Deshanna’s lips flicked in a façade of a smile before returning to its stoic self.

“There is a temple in the Korcari Wilds,” she said after a long pause. “Enaste’s father, Abelas, resides there. Tell him I sent you there. I know not if he shall let you pass or not, but mentioning me is enough.”

 _Sorrow?_ “Keeper… Forgive me, but I don’t _understand.”_

“Not yet,” Deshanna murmured, “but you will.” She clapped. Her companions suddenly stood in front of her, looking blank. Like Clarel had earlier; and as Clarel now looked. “It’s figured out you’re here. I can no longer keep you here.” Adhlea swallowed and stood. “I am _very_ proud of you, Adhlea,” Deshanna murmured. “Seek out Faith and you shall make it out alive.”

Deshanna drew her in, pressing her marks upon Adhlea’s.

_“Dar’eth shiral, ashalan.”_

_Go safely on your journey, daughter._

Adhlea closed her eyes, clutching at the woman until she felt nothing before collapsing in a heap as the warmth was chased away. Adhlea couldn’t help but let out a quiet sob, feeling alone once more.

“Where did it go?” Sera’s quavering voice brought everyone to their senses. “I thought she was gonna let us sleep!”

“You did,” Cole said, quietly. “But it found us.”

Adhlea sniffed, looking upwards – or what she _perceived_ as up – and paused, her eyes fixing on a point in the distance.

Towering in the distance was the Black City. Rumors of its existence had littered the years; the seat of the Maker was supposedly in it.

Her eyes searched for something like the Breach, as the hair on the back of her neck stood up slowly.

“Faith is waiting,” Cole said, making her yelp and jump. “But _it_ comes, too.”

Adhlea turned behind her. Something _was_ coming.

“Come on,” she ordered.

“Where are we?” Clarel asked, panic in her voice.

“Keep _up,_ darling,” Vivienne scoffed. “We’re in the _Fade,_ obviously.”

“This doesn’t look like –“ Clarel began, only for Cole to interrupt.

“The Fade is _wrong,”_ the spirit muttered. “It’s not supposed to be like this. It _wasn’t_ like this, before.”

“Come, Cole.” Adhlea held out her hand to the spirit. “Let’s make it better together, okay?”


	128. Chapter 128

Cole knows she’s helping; they all are. It was their presence, living where living did not dare tread, that brought brilliance to the Fade.

It’s just…

When he touches her hand, she’s _scared._ There’s something inside her that trembles, no matter how hard she is trying to hide it.

Something skittered ahead. Cole could feel it, coming closer – something like him, but nothing like him. Something that made him scared, that drew on the fear Thalia felt.

_Sera…_

A voice whispered around the Fade, echoing.

“What was that?” The-elf-that-wasn’t-quite-an-elf squeaked. Disgust flared from the ice-woman; the demon-blooded woman clutched at her sword.

“A demon,” Thalia whispered. “I think.”

“A nightmare,” Cole muttered. “You’ve been touched by it. It… _knows_ you. It’s been following your dreams, but you’re never where it expects you to be. You’re always _gone.”_

Fear flared in Thalia’s mind, quickly tamped down.

 _We **will** get out of here, and we **won’t** die, _her mind hissed.

“You don’t know that,” Cole muttered.

“I don’t,” Thalia whispered, glancing down at him. “But we _must.”_

Faith glittered up ahead, waiting.

_Adhlea…_

The voice was getting close. They kept going, the Inquisitor splashing through the water. Cole could feel the Fade reacting; he couldn’t explain it, but with every second the Fade darkened as the creature slipped closer.

 _Oh, lovely, glittering Vivienne,_ the demon rumbled. Cole felt a wave of _cold_ flood his being as it continued speaking. _Lovely Vivienne, playing the queen of ice – you’re scared of failing your duties, aren’t you? Aw, how cute. You’ve **already failed,** Vivienne. You’re far too late._

“Tch. I wish it would stop talking to me,” Vivienne said, her voice shaky.

 _Cole._ Cole could feel its attention on him, now. _Poor little Cole. You’ll become just like me._

“No, I won’t,” Cole said, clutching closer to the elf.

 _Clarel. You…_ the demon laughed.

“We have to hurry.” Thalia flinched as a mighty crash was heard behind them.

“Why?” Clarel asked, sounding breathless. “It’s not like it’s getting any closer.”

“Clearly you aren’t _listening,”_ Sera snapped waspishly.

_Warden-Commander, hmm? A **failure,** if I’ve ever seen one. You **deserve** to die._

“I’m guessing this creature is preying on our fears,” Thalia said, loudly. “Pathetic. We’ll have a counter for each of them.”

_Darling Sera. Terrified of magic; did you know you’ll become like me if you ever become a mage? You’ll do worse than die, child; you’ll become an Abomination. No-one to save you then – just like when you were but a child. That’s what you still are, Sera._

Sera whimpered.

“Ignore it,” Thalia called, her voice wavering. “Cole, how close are we to –“

 _Adhlea Thalia Lavellan,_ the demon rumbled, sounding perversely pleased. _You can’t trust anyone. You will die, alienated from your allies and abandoned by those you claim are family. After all, committing a taboo like that is a sentence of death – and you **will** cross that line, won’t you? You won’t **hesitate.**_

“I won’t hesitate to _kick your ass,”_ Thalia snarled lowly. Cole tilted his head at her at how… _guilty_ she felt.

“What _taboo_ does it speak of?” Vivienne asked, sharply. “Have you committed such an act?”

“No,” Thalia muttered. “I have not yet committed an _elvhen_ taboo, Vivienne. _Clearly_ I’ve committed _human_ ones.”

“What _is_ the elvhen taboo?” Clarel demanded.

Thalia sighed. Annoyance spiked in her mind.

“We cannot bring back the dead,” she said, flatly. “ _That_ is the taboo.”

Clarel gasped.

“Elves can _bring the dead back?”_

Thalia stopped, turning halfway to face Clarel.

“Anyone can bring the recently-dead back,” she said, after a long silence. “But only if you’re willing to cross the line. Bringing back a person costs the person their will; they will not have a mind of their own, with a few exceptions. Slaying the user of such magic only grants the previously dead person limited time back. No exceptions. The dead are dead, and they must remain such.” Thalia swallowed. “You can bring others back from the dead, but the first time you break that first taboo crosses the line. You will _never_ touch the Fade again. Blood magic is ill-advised, even as an elf – not only does it hinder you and your connection with magic to the Fade, blood magic will make your mind unsettled. It brings with it a madness; a madness I have not seen yet. Only heard.” Thalia’s guilt flickered in her mind. Cole knew exactly why.

“You’ve felt it before, haven’t you?” Thalia’s face paled. “You’re not _quite_ a blood mage, but you’ve used blood magic.”

“I… had to use a blood magic spell in my youth,” she muttered. “Blood has a power in itself. I could have, while I had no connection to the Fade, _probably_ used my blood to use magic. I did not want to risk never touching the Fade again.”

“You said _first_ taboo,” Vivienne noted, her glittering, jewel-bright mind suddenly alight with deep fears. “What is the second?”

“Blood sacrifice,” Thalia said, revulsion skittering across both her face and mind. “That’s… Maker above, Vivienne, you don’t _actually_ think I’d –“

“You use _blood magic,_ forgive me for being a _little_ terrified,” Vivienne said, crossly. “You did not want to mention it, correct?”

“I didn’t,” Thalia admitted, “not because I would use them; but because I… I would have, if my brother had died in the Storm Coast.” She tried to tug her hand from Cole’s, but he resisted.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Cole said, tilting his head. “The Fade would take _your_ life if you did such a thing.”

Thalia paled, her gaze fixing on Cole’s.

“Well, it’s simple, isn’t it?” Cole straightened, instinctively _knowing_ what he was about to say. “Mortals cannot walk through the Fade without being Dreamers. Out of everyone in the world, there are only six people who have walked through the Fade. You can leave the Fade, if you find the way, but the Fade will never leave _you.”_

Cole didn’t know how he knew, but he felt compelled to tell her.

“So, the price will be your life.”

Thalia swallowed. “How reassuring.”

It wasn’t to her, but Cole didn’t say anything.

“We shouldn’t go through this way,” Cole said. “It might _look_ shorter, but –“

Thalia stepped through without listening, her hand abruptly yanked from his grasp.

Sera gasped. “Quizzy!” She lurched past Cole, clung to one of the archways – as she touched it, she, too, vanished.

Cole was firmly in tune with the Inquisitor’s party; he turned to Vivienne and Clarel, both of whom looked shocked.

“We have to go the other way,” he said, simply. They weren’t meant to see what was beyond that archway.

Vivienne swallowed.


	129. Chapter 129

Sera stumbled forward. Quizzy looked lost; Sera could absolutely understand why.

The streets bustled with noise. Elves – and _only_ elves – strode around with a purpose, through a specific marketplace in this place.

“Quizzy?” Sera hated how lost she sounded. Looking around, most faces were marked with Dalish markings; grouped together and having ducked heads. They looked – _fearful._

“Sera?” The Inquisitor turned back to her. “Why did you let go of Vivienne?”

“Vivienne was scared,” Sera explained. “Where are we?”

Unease flickered on Thalia’s face. “We’re still in the Fade. I think it’s a memory.” She licked her lips and looked around. “A memory of Arlathan. For some reason, this memory is practically tangible.”

“Like your ghosts?” Sera shivered at recalling the flame-haired woman. Curiously, her dislike of ghosts did not extend to the warm, older ghost of Thalia’s Keeper.

“No,” Thalia replied. “It’s like… Like we’re seeing something important. I don’t _know,_ this is the _Fade_ and in uncharted territory!” She flung her hands up.

Sera swallowed. “Should we follow the road?” Nothing particularly impressive was happening, just people milling around. Sera noted a bunch of cloaked people moving unhindered; that was pushed aside as Thalia spoke.

“Sure,” Thalia agreed. “Maybe we’ll find that spirit Cole was leading us to.”

“I doubt it, and I hope he’s not leading us to a spirit,” shuddered Sera.

They set off up the path, the cobbled road smooth and even, towards the giant doorway that shimmered, even in this so-called _memory._

~:~

Hawke scoffed. “Just because you haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they’re dead. I mean, that fucking _dragon_ was the last one to see them alive.”

“Mufglublet,” said dragon muttered, her lips moving but her teeth barely do so. She was covered – literally – in bandages. All but her head had dampened them with blood. The archdemon dragon was gone, having flown off with a screech to the sky. Hawke guessed a fall like that wouldn’t kill an already dead dragon; it did nearly kill Enaste.

“They _fell,”_ Cullen said, in an almost patronizing tone. “From _there.”_

He pointed to the edge they were standing near, the Inquisition now camped in the Adamant Fortress, Wardens tied up and unconscious.

Across the courtyard, the Warden mixed some herbal concoction. Hawke made a face and looked away.

Something in her stomach churned.

“It’s the Inquisitor,” offered Fenris almost lazily. “You can’t really assume she’s dead unless there’s a body.” He paused. “Or bone dust.”

“Ew,” Hawke’s lip curled. “Why, Fen? _Why?_ Bone dust probably looks like rock dust!”

“Just saying,” Fenris scowled. “If Enaste didn’t see her die, I would not assume anything. Also, Vivienne would sooner skewer herself on her own ice wall than get crushed by rubble.”

“There’s one way to get an answer,” the Warden said, appearing by their side. “I’ve got one guess as to where they are and why they’re not _here.”_ Her lips pressed together, a fearful look in her eyes as she stared at Hawke. “Hawke must take this.”

She shoved the bowl at Hawke.

“What is it?” Hawke didn’t recognize the concoction.

“I created this after I got back from the Fade,” the Warden revealed. “It requires stuff from the Fade – almost normal shite, like the shite we get in our shitty requisitions. This is a concoction of elfroot and herbs I gathered from the Fade when I was there.” The Warden thrust the bowl in Hawke’s face. “I used the last of my Fade-saturated elfroot on this, just so you know.” She looked a bit upset at the loss.

Hawke took the bowl gingerly. “Did _you_ smoke your Fade-saturated elfroot, too?”

Cullen choked on air.

“You can _smoke_ elfroot?” Fenris questioned, aghast.

Hawke flushed. “Well, I mean – it’s great as a medicine, and I wouldn’t _advise_ smoking it,” she hedged, “but in certain… circumstances, elfroot is a great… recreational use plant.”

“It’s kind of like embrium for humans,” explained the Warden, almost absently. “Except, for mages _really_ attuned to the Fade and elves, it’s… _awesome.”_

“Makes _all_ your worries melt away,” sighed Hawke in remembrance. “Fade-saturated elfroot – hey, I actually _planted_ some of that shit at my place, by the way! Since I actually went through the Fade there, I tried some that I had Merrill sent over – the planted ones – and they’re almost as good to smoke –“

Hawke stopped, flushing at Fenris’ pointed gaze.

“You. Smoke. Elfroot.” His voice was blank and… _disappointed._

“Hey, don’t knock her down,” Doshiel said, her voice hard. Hawke glanced at her. “I’m willing to bet that Hawke’s performance has been at her best. The elfroot _is_ almost as addictive, but I’m guessing Thalia wouldn’t be so nice as to get some. Also, since we do live _separated_ from the Fade, we won’t get any more.” Doshiel shrugged.

“You weren’t there,” Hawke muttered after another soul-crushing silence. “I was alone in the Fade, Fenris; and I’ve only been there _once._ I can’t imagine going there _twice.”_

No, she thought as she downed the weird mixture. She couldn’t.

“So what exactly is this concoction going to do?” Hawke wondered, a bit too late.

Doshiel paused. “Oh. Well, since you’re a mage and have a personal connection to Thalia, you’ll be a beacon that guides her here.”

Hawke stared at Doshiel.

“I’m sorry, have you _tried_ this before?”

“Once,” Doshiel said, cheerfully. “But I was guiding a lost spirit.” She tapped her lip. “It was an obscure art, meant to guide lost spirits in this world. I couldn’t use it, so I had a good friend use it. He’s dead now.”

Doshiel’s voice was cheerful, but there was pain that flashed through her eyes. Hawke realized, belatedly, that most people Doshiel knew then were dead.

“I’ll let you smoke some of my elfroot,” Hawke promised, patting her arm.

~:~

War.

Samson stared over the battlefield, a frown etched on his face. Each camp had Inquisition colors; for some reason, the Inquisition had landed here and waged war. He had a right to be nervous – the Elder One had promised no harm to their templars.

And yet, he could see the Inquisition soldiers dancing – so they’d been successful.

He noticed some templars still in templar-wear; they either hadn’t had their chestplates changed or didn’t want to.

He crept closer, close enough to know people could see him. Close enough to snag a requisitions form (why, by the maker, did they have a table labeled ‘requisitions’? That was _asking_ for spies to steal what they needed!) from the requisitions table and open it.

“- Inquisitor’s gone missing,” a templar confided. “That’s why we’re still here.”

“Again? The Inquisitor _always_ goes missing.” The second templar sighed. “I mean, she’s important and everything. She kind of protects everyone.” A pause. “Did you hear about her confrontation with Celene?”

“I’m not into Orlesian politics, but even _I’ve_ heard of what happened with Celene. Inquisitor’s some kind of Duchess, ain’t she?”

“Mm. Heard that she gave Celene permission to punish her when there is no more Inquisition.”

“Yeah. That’s coming soon, isn’t it? Not much evil out and about, these days.”

“Are you _shitting me?_ If the Inquisitor’s not out killing evil, she’s doing _paperwork._ Did you hear that she reads and approves almost every. Single. Thing. That Lady Montilyet gives her? Not to mention all her Inner Circle does is given to her. That, on top of playing politics, she’s helping out keeping her clan together.” Samson’s eyes flicked up to glance at the loud templars.

“Damn. I’ve heard so many rumors, it’s not even _funny._ She doesn’t engage with us that often…”

“Inquisitor’s busy doing shit. She’s also got a reputation to uphold,” hissed a female templar. “You have a problem with the Herald?”

“No!” the two other templars squeaked. “Herald’s amazing!”

“The Herald is also _missing,_ and you two are sitting on your asses! _Get up and start your next watch!”_

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Samson walked away with utter confusion.


	130. Chapter 130

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Dorian looked at Syven with a small, fond smile.

“Better to speak to a family retainer with one of my lovers by my side than not,” he admitted unhesitatingly. He steeled his nerve and opened the door to the Redcliffe tavern.

Empty of all but one person, Dorian nearly lost his nerve.

“Father,” he said, his voice unsteady in its shock.

Behind him, Syven sucked in a sharp breath.

His father turned, surprise flashing across his face before something dark flashed across it.

“Inquisitor,” he said.

Dorian swallowed, but Syven laughed. It was slightly maniacal.

“First of all, not my darling sister,” the Dalish man snorted. “She would be all proper and shit.” Dorian felt Syven brush past him, heard the thud of boots on the floor. Syven strode up to Dorian’s father and, without having to look, Dorian knew the man was smirking up at Magister Pavus. “Secondly, if you step out of line, I’m _very_ much willing to make you suffer, Magister.”

Dorian blinked. “While I’m touched at the threat of violence towards _him,_ I don’t really want his head on a pike, love.”

Disgust flickered over the magister’s face.

“I should have known why you came with him,” Halward Pavus said, a scowl upon his face.

“ _Don’t you dare,”_ Dorian snapped. “You have no fucking _right.”_

Magister Pavus fought to clear his face of all judgment. Syven tilted his head, silently laughing at the clear struggle on the man’s face. Dorian was in no mood to laugh; Syven’s moods were obvious to him.

“So, what exactly happened between you two?” Syven wondered aloud, hopping up on a bar stool. “I mean, I got bits and pieces, but not the whole story.”

Dorian scowled. “He is the one who taught me to hate blood magic,” Dorian explained, throwing Syven an apologetic look; knowing the Inquisitor had done blood magic, but not knowing the conditions under which it had become necessary, he had only his judgment of her character. Still, he felt it best to give him a silent apology – Syven only blinked at him. “He taught me that its uses were, in the long run, not worth it. Going mad or losing my connection to the Fade was not worth the boost of power. _Pavus men are made of pure skill,_ he said.” Dorian’s face grew dark, then tossed a look at Magister Pavus. “Then, he found out one night when I was far too tired of hiding it. What did you do? What did the man who _hated blood magic do?_ You tried to – you _tried to change me!”_

“I was only attempting to do what I thought best,” Magister Pavus uttered.

“Yes, what _you_ thought was best! All that ever mattered to you was your _fucking legacy!”_ Dorian stabbed the air with a finger. “And now, when I’m finally _happy,_ you waltz in here – for what? Another stupid attempt to get me home?”

His father glanced at Syven warily. Syven glanced at Dorian for confirmation.

“I would rather speak of this between family,” his father said as Syven’s feet hit the floor.

“I’ll be right outside,” Syven promised. Dorian nodded his thanks.

Still, as the door shut, Dorian wished he didn’t have to stand there and talk to his father alone.

~:~

Magister Pavus swallowed as the door slammed open, Dorian storming out. He sighed; the door opened once more. Hoping it was his son, he looked up.

Instead, it was the _elf._ The _elf,_ who was staring at him with an indescribable look.

“You know,” the elf said after a long silence, “if I had a father that cared to try to mend things, I would hope he would be willing to overlook my faults and ask me how I was saving the entire fucking world.”

The elf turned away and walked out, nodding sharply.

Dorian stepped back in, minutes later, a scowl clear on his face.

“What?” his son demanded. “Going to yell at me for my choices in friends and lovers? Try to use blood magic on me again?”

Magister Pavus swallowed everything. Swallowed the admonishments, the disgust, the pride… He looked his son in the eyes and said what his pride begged him not to. What he had tried to before Dorian had stormed out.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were awkward and stilted. He knew. He knew it was far too little, far too late.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, awkwardly. “I made choices. I… had hoped to repair our relationship.” He swallowed again. “To repair mistakes I have –“

“ _Stop,_ please,” Dorian said, cringing for some reason. “This is fucking _painful_ to hear.” He offered the magister a pained, tired smile. “You are shit at apologies.”

The Magister couldn’t help but scowl.

He looked at the door, trying to gather his thoughts. His son sighed.

“I don’t think I can wholly forgive you,” Dorian began, “but this is a start, Magister.”

Magister Pavus’ scowl lightened.

~:~

Syven watched the first man leave, sharpening one of his many knives and watching him with a tilted head.

Then Dorian came out, looking exhausted and stressed.

“Hey,” Syven said, pushing off and ignoring the Magister, who stopped at the bottom of the path. “Everything alright?”

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” Dorian said, “but I’m more certain than ever my father’s less of a bastard than yours.”

“Eh. Least you’re not afraid of my sister.” Syven shrugged, uncaring of Dorian’s opinion on Syven’s father. Fathers could be total assholes. “Come on. I heard Leliana say she should be getting reports from the Adamant Fortress.”

“Fun,” Dorian said, drolly. “We could take a long detour, see some sights.”

He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hate to break it to you,” Syven rebuffed with an apologetic smirk, “but I’m Interim Inquisitor.” He shuddered. “I don’t know how my sister manages to stay _sane_ with all that fucking paperwork.”

He clasped Dorian’s hand, meeting his eyes. He let the smirk fade.

_I’m here._

“He says we’re too much alike,” Dorian whispered, leaning into him. “Too much pride.”

“Well, pride comes with the territory. You’re still Tevene.” Syven let his smirk fade, then let a smile grace his face. “I’m really happy you two are talking, you know.”

Dorian looked at him apologetically. “I’m _really_ sorry my father’s less of a bastard.”

Syven snorted. “Seriously, don’t be.” Thinking back to when Revassan had come to Skyhold, Syven smiled. “I think my big sister has a nice father – even if he is _human_ and they don’t talk that much.”


	131. Chapter 131

Yenera scowled at the Iron Bull.

“I may not be a Dalish elf, but my mother _was,”_ she snapped at him. “These are sacred grounds. You can’t just go _looting_ the Emerald Graves! That’s like _asking_ a clan to come down on us.”

“It is,” a new voice cut in. Fenatherien Lavellan glared at both of them, his Dalish clothes oddly matching the Emerald Graves. “Keepers Lavellan have asked you to be mindful of the Dalish who died here. We had a hard enough time making most of the humans get out.” Worry flashed along the hunter’s face. “I don’t –“

“Hey, Boss!” Krem called out, sounding carefully cheerful. Yenera tensed, having only heard this when bandits had kidnapped –

Krem was pushed out by an angry-looking elvhen man who carried both a sword and a staff. If Yenera was right, he carried Sylaise’s _vallaslin._

“Shit,” Fenatherien muttered.

“Fucking _humans,_ trampling all over our Graves!” He looked spitting mad. “I want you all gone!”

The elf’s eyes tracked over to Fenatherien, who had composed himself. It was so _weird,_ seeing a straight-faced elf. Fenatherien was normally smiling.

“Keeper Sounvenlan,” Fenatherien said, his voice drier than fire. “It is good to see you.”

Yenera translated. _Sounvenlan_ – the people of vigorous rivers. Not a well-known clan, but enough for Uvun to have taught Yenera of the clans of her people. There were the big, well-known clans like Lavellan and Sabrae; then there were the little ones without as many deeds to their name.

The young boy – for seriously, the elf was like, fifteen summers old, if that – just glared, his expression tightening.

“Keeper Sounvenlan,” a mature woman’s voice was heard, disapprovingly sounding over the noise of the Inquisition soldiers and Krem’s hissed complaints. Another elf came out, in elegant robes. She seemed to spot Fenatherien at once, offering him a smile. “Fenatherien Lavellan, _En’an’sal’en.”_

 _“En’an’sal’en,”_ Fenatherien replied. “Why are you here, at this place, Keeper Tabris? The Arlathvhen does not properly convene another two months yet.”

“This young one has just become Keeper of his clan,” Keeper Tabris said, clasping her hands behind her body. “He seeks out a bride, and when he found this soldier and saw his colors he saw the opportunity.”

“He seeks a bride of Clan Lavellan,” Fenatherien observed, sounding bland as ever.

“He seeks to… _join_ Clan Lavellan and Sounvenlan together,” Tabris said, a smirk appearing on her face before vanishing as the young man turned to glare at Tabris.

Fenatherien nodded politely at Keeper Sounvenlan. “I hope you find what you’re seeking for.”

“I want to see the Inquisitor,” the young Keeper blurted.

Yenera twitched as Krem froze.

For a moment, everyone was silent.

“Good luck with that, mate,” Krem said, breaking his composure. Loud guffaws exited the human’s mouth. Yenera and the Iron Bull, for the first time in this… _partnership_ , burst out laughing after exchanging glances.

“ _Shut up!”_ Keeper Sounvenlan snapped. “You, Lavellan!” He threw Krem to the side. “I wish to –“

“No,” Fenatherien said, not a trace of a smile on his face.

“I –“ the young Keeper started, his face going red.

“No,” Fenatherien repeated.

“Fenatherien,” Keeper Tabris said, sounding exasperated.

“Neither of the Keepers of Clan Lavellan will agree to such a bonding.” Fenatherien’s face was neutral even as both Keepers froze. “You may tell that to the other clans as well. Keepers Lavellan have been extremely busy.”

Keeper Tabris’ smile vanished.

“Another break of tradition,” she said, her voice hard. “Clan Lavellan might be thrown away, like the last clan who tried that.”

Fenatherien blinked. “Clan Aleriel knows of this,” he said, ponderously. “They should have told you and the rest of the clans.”

A snarl of rage passed over Sounvenlan’s face.

“Wait,” Yenera said, aloud. Keeper Tabris’ eyes turned to her as she walked towards them, stopping next to Fenatherien. “Wait a minute. Who exactly do you think is the current female Keeper of Clan Lavellan?”

“Enaste Lavellan,” Keeper Tabris answered after a pause.

Yenera winced. “It’s Thalia Lavellan, actually.” There was no recognition. “Kerrah Lavellan?” she tried.

“That _shem-_ lover?” Sounvenlan’s face turned disgusted.

“You don’t know anything, _da’len,”_ Keeper Tabris snapped, hitting the younger Keeper on the head. The man gasped before his expression got _even angrier._ “Tell Keepers Lavellan we are aware of their position and await them at the Arlathvhen.” Keeper Tabris gripped the younger elf’s shoulder and steered him back through the woods.

“Neither of the Keepers intend to fight, Keeper Tabris,” Fenatherien called. “But if you insult either of them, you will have such a fight on your hands. Clan Lavellan takes care of their own.” The threat was obvious in the words alone.

Keeper Tabris stopped, before looking back and nodding at Fenatherien with a soft smile.

“Understood,” she replied before shoving the other forward, vanishing in the underbrush.

“What the _fuck,”_ Dalish asked, her voice unnerved.

“That was Dalish politics,” Fenatherien explained. “Another reason you should leave the Dalish artefacts to the Dalish. Not even Inquisitor Lavellan would dare touch them as the Inquisitor; that is a way to get banished from the clans. Should you touch it, she will be in conflict with her people and yours.”

“We’re Adaar, though,” Yenera said, confused.

“Unless you were brought up in the Dales, and name your parentage…” Fenatherien shrugged. “The Lady Inquisitor has many duties.”

Yenera shot a glare at The Iron Bull.

“Alright, alright!” The Iron Bull scoffed. “We’ll leave it alone.”


	132. Chapter 132

It wasn’t anything too important, Sera realized. Apparently even ancient elves held balls.

They stood above a ballroom, filled to the brim with elves. Nobles, lords – all bare-faced like Sera. Sera blinked as she realized this – _were the ones that had markings servants or slaves?_

Pushing aside that question, the city elf watched as doors opened in this memory. The Inquisitor’s breath caught; Sera tossed her a confused look.

“That’s –“ A finger was pointed to the redheaded woman who held a horned woman’s hand. “Those two have to be Sylaise and Ghilan’nain,” she breathed. “Ghilan’nain was blinded, in the stories.”

Sera peered closer. Yep, the woman was blind.

Behind the two, a thin elf wearing only armor stalked in, her lip curling as she yanked a young-looking elvhen man with her. The youth, however, gave way to the cruel smile on his lips as he looked around. Sera shivered, sliding halfway behind the Inquisitor.

“Andruil,” the Inquisitor muttered. “Goddess of the hunt. Deshanna told us she liked turning people into animals – she also tried to hunt Fen’Harel, but he managed to get away from her.”

Two more men came out – another young-looking one, not touching the older one. Compared to the one who held an expression of cruelty, Sera noted the youth looked solemn.

“Falon’Din, Dirthamen, and June,” the Inquisitor whispered. Falon’Din must have been the one Andruil had escorted.

 _I don’t care,_ Sera wanted to snap as they watched the Dalish _gods_ sit in seats. Servants(?) appeared, melting from shadows and offering drinks. Dressed in lavish clothes, it seemed that the slaves here were better treated than the elves in the cities.

When the drinks were served,

All attention went to the doors one last time.

A black-haired, pale-skinned woman stepped out, a headpiece glittering. On her arm was a golden-haired man, who showed no expression. The woman was the opposite; upon her face was indifference – like she cared nothing about what was happening.

“Mythal and Elgar’nan,” the Inquisitor half-mumbled, stepping forward. Sera squeaked and latched onto her.

Mythal was _gorgeous,_ Sera realized after her heart stopped pounding and Mythal sat down on a chair. Straight black hair, beautiful grey eyes – even the dress, completely black, did nothing to erase that opinion of hers. Even in this memory, Mythal’s allure charged the atmosphere.

“ _Welcome,”_ Mythal said, whispering to the crowd. “ _Today we celebrate an addition to our ranks, my newest general, -----.”_

The next words went unheard as Sera watched the crowd part as a figure entered the memory.

If Sera were attracted to men, this man would be a _meal._ He wore armor; a smug smile lifted his lips on his face and his eyes glittered with an unnamed emotion.

“Oh, Maker above, he’s _gorgeous,”_ the Inquisitor mumbled.

“He’s also got hair,” Sera snorted, forgetting in the moment where they were and mocking the Inquisitor’s… _questionable_ taste in men.

The Inquisitor hit Sera. Sera winced.

It _was_ true. The man had _dreadlocks,_ and while it looked so _weird_ on humans and elves alike, this guy…

Well, Maker above, _this_ elf could turn Sera straight and maybe even _Solas_ gay.

“Oh, Maker,” the Inquisitor murmured, the memory blurring as the elf proceeded up the steps, “He’s got to be _Fen’Harel.”_

Sera felt her heart stop as the elf stilled for a heartbeat – the elf on the steps – and look back as Mythal began speaking.

Memory or not, she felt like Fen’Harel had seen them both.

The dreary green Fade appeared, stones and puddles in their eyesight. Another archway awaited them; Sera tugged on the Inquisitor’s hand.

The Inquisitor squeezed her hand. They stepped through the archway.


	133. Chapter 133

Vivienne kept a tight grip on her staff as she followed the _spirit_ through the Fade. He almost _glowed_ in the Fade; an energy around him that seemed to turn away the foul spiders as they walked. Only Vivienne had to kill them.

“There are stairs,” it called back, turning to look at her and Clarel.

Vivienne pressed her lips together. _She_ was the blind one here, and she _did not enjoy this._

Still, she descended as quickly as she dared, shuddering as something hit her leg. Clarel’s clanking armor did not help her keep her fear under wraps.

“A bend ahead,” the spirit called to her, vanishing around said bend. “They’re up ahead.”

Vivienne hurried, forgetting Clarel was also with her. Around the bend –

She winced at the near-blinding golden light emitting from ahead; she hurried to find the spirit, its name on her lips as she entered the new clearing. “Cole -!”

Another spirit stood there, looking at another archway. Cole was sitting on a rock, looking, as usual, unperturbed.

“Please sit, Madame de Fer,” the Divine said, casting a quick glance at her. “There is another I await.”

“You…” Vivienne swallowed. “You are dead,” she said, weakly. It said much, she supposed, that she was more shocked when a human she knew to be dead appeared than appearing dead elves she had never met.

(And personally, Madame de Fer had, in the few sentences Helana had spoken, wondered how such a person could raise the Inquisitor. She did not know much of Thalia’s past, yet it appeared the Inquisitor thought more of her clan leader than her own mother. Odd; Vivienne’s mother had died the year Vivienne learned of her own ability for magic. Vivienne couldn’t imagine a mother like Thalia’s.)

Then again, Vivienne was probably shocked because this was the _Divine._

“I am,” the Divine said, smiling placidly, “and not what you think, my dear.”

Thalia stumbled in, Sera looking sick and scared. Thalia looked like she couldn’t believe what she’d seen – and as Vivienne watched, Thalia’s face grew ever paler upon seeing the Divine.

“Divine,” Clarel breathed, before bending the knee. “Divine, we all knew –“

“That isn’t the Divine,” Thalia said, interrupting them. “Who are you?”

The Divine smiled. “Astute observation, Adhlea Lavellan.”

Thalia’s eyes flashed. “ _Thalia,”_ Thalia bit out.

“I’m curious,” the Divine questioned her, “what do you see?”

Thalia scowled. “The Divine,” she said, sounding unhappy. “But I have no faith in the Maker, so why would you choose that form to show me?”

The Divine tilted her head. “How did you come to the answer that I am faith?”

“The Divine Justinia is dead,” Thalia said, her voice dry. “And the other spirits I have met didn’t glow gold, _Faith._ Among all of us, there was a choice – come as Andraste or come as Justinia. Nobody knows what Andraste looks like. Justinia would be an odd choice if you _weren’t_ Faith, as only Vivienne and I have both seen her face-to-face, in close quarters.”

True enough; there was a Chantry motif on her dress that declared she was the Divine – a little more elaborate, as the Chantry motif was literally _everywhere._ Vivienne’s eyes inspected the details – yes, the engraving was on there.

“Clarel only said ‘Divine’ after Vivienne, so that leads me to suspect the Warden-Commander has never met the Divine in person… Draw your own conclusions, Faith. You needed to be recognizable to those you were talking to.” Thalia crossed her arms. “Thank you,” she added, her expression smoothing out for a moment.

The Divine smiled. “For what?” she enquired, sounding calm.

“You… saved my life, did you not? The last time I was here.” Thalia looked embarrassed.

“I did,” hummed the spirit. “But Divine Justinia did most of the work. I simply helped you _out._ Humans do not last long in the Fade. They do not… quite belong.” For a moment, the spirit’s form flickered into a golden orb; then it reasserted itself as Divine Justinia. “Unfortunately, our time runs short. The Nightmare comes ever closer.”

Vivienne felt a coldness cling to her.

“How do we leave, Faith?”

Faith stared at her.

“You have the key,” she said at last, “but it is locked in your mind. Opening the Fade and entering it is no easy feat; you _must_ remember if you are to leave. But he will not like that.”

“Remember _what?_ I already remember touching the orb,” the Inquisitor frowned.

“The first time you were in the Fade, child.” Faith tilted her head. “You remembered snatches of it upon opening a doorway and releasing souls; you do not remember what came _before_ Nightmare attacked you.”

Vivienne cleared her throat. Faith and Thalia turned to her.

“Must we _all_ go through this?” Vivienne questioned.

“Yes,” Faith answered, sharply. “Go. Find your memory. Come back when you have them; do not let the Nightmare take you.”

Thalia grimaced, but walked towards an archway.

“Everyone together,” Thalia called out, waiting for them.

 _There you are,_ the Nightmare rumbled.

“Hurry!” _their_ spirit gesticulated wildly for Clarel.

Clarel hastened.


	134. Dream of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anticlimactic end.

_“Where are we?”_

_“Young Duchess, we’re in the Fade.” Kerrah turned, her face alarmed._

It was… _so strange,_ to see those red eyes. Those red eyes that looked so _young._

Those red eyes that belonged to her for _years._ Adhlea swallowed as she waited for the memory to continue.

_“We need to find a way out, then!” The Divine looked faintly amused._

_“You do realize, child, that this is a realm that has never been entered by mortals? And even if they have, they have not lived to tell about it.”_

_“We can’t die, Divine.” Kerrah set her jaw. “We’ll get out of here.”_

_“Maybe you can,” allowed the Divine, “but I am blessed enough to have lived for so long.” The elder woman stopped. “I am… far too old.”_

_Kerrah’s eyes widened. “You’re still young enough to come with me – to_ live _and help mages!”_

_The Divine stared at her for a long moment._

_“Child,” she said, her voice gentle, “you have a good heart. But not even you can turn hearts away from their chosen path.”_

_Kerrah pressed her lips together._

_“You would not know the plight of the mages, anyway,” the Divine sighed. “I only asked for your testi –“_

_“I’m a mage.” Kerrah swallowed, convulsively. “And all we want is to live without being collared.”_

_The Divine’s eyes widened. “Does Gaspard know?”_

_“Aye,” Kerrah rasped. “I care not if it is revealed now. Too much has happened. Now, please, Divine. Come with me.”_

Adhlea winced as the memory ended; and as it did, she could remember it happening as it happened. From _her own_ point of view, rather than watching it.

Spiders were coming out with far more boldness.

Vivienne coughed. “Is this one of your memories, darling?”

Adhlea turned, spotting the orb and nodded.

Vivienne touched it.

_“Come on!” Spiders crawled everywhere. Noises, presumably from the spiders, appeared._

_“Why won’t you stay?” a childish voice murmured, before distorting itself. **“Come back and be devoured, little mortals. I promise your deaths shall be swift.”**_

_“Hold on,” the Divine gasped, stopping. “I told you before, I am an old woman.”_

_“We have no time to waste, Divine,” Kerrah panted. “Even I am tired, and even I must go on!”_

_“Then you should go,” the woman murmured, her exhaustion plain._

_“Not. Without. You,” gritted Kerrah. “I refuse to be responsible for your death!”_

_“Why?” the Divine questioned. “Is it because you will be blamed?”_

_Kerrah glanced at the ground, chewing her lip._

_“Not quite,” she replied, in a near-whisper. “You’re not the worst human I’ve met, and I rather enjoy your company. Is that so awful of me?”_

_The Divine laughed a little._

“How the fuck were you two _laughing?”_ Clarel demanded, speaking to them for the first time as the memory ended.

Adhlea blinked. “As I recall, it was a rather desperate situation. The Divine prayed as we ran, and then she had to stop. Nightmare was following us; it seemed that laughter was the best advantage we had.”

“Here,” Cole said, a ball of green in his grasp. “Another memory.”

_“I am Faith,” the golden wisp murmured, dual-tones in its voice. “I am not Knowledge. But you have faith enough for me to show you where you seek.”_

_“We seek a way out,” Kerrah replied, unsteadily to the spirit, clutching her side for an odd reason._

_“Yes, you do,” the spirit whispered, collecting itself into something resembling a mortal form. “Follow.”_

_They scrambled to follow the golden spirit of Faith. Up and around ledges, a place where a sheer drop was found..._

_Until finally, amidst Nightmare’s whispers that called to them indistinctly, there was a massive staircase._

_“You first,” Kerrah gasped._

_“Please,” the Divine replied, “a lady must always go first.”_

_Kerrah brandished two daggers._

_“Age before beauty, you old hag,” she said, harshly._

_The Divine snorted again. “So uncouth.”_

_“We’re in the Fade, Divine. I have no need to be nice.”_

**_“THERE YOU ARE,”_ ** _Nightmare called, amusement in his tone._

_Faith stopped at the top._

_Kerrah followed the Divine, cutting down spiders clumsily._

“I was always better with throwing knives,” Adhlea murmured, feeling the looks. “Close combat scares me.”

Clarel coughed. “Our time is better spent looking for memories,” she interrupted.

 **Compassion,** the Nightmare murmured almost lazily. **You and I are the same, you know. I was once what you were.**

Adhlea glanced at Cole.

Cole looked pale, for a spirit.

“Could I truly become that?”

Adhlea wanted to say _no,_ vehemently.

But… the truth was…

“You could,” she said, after a long, long silence. “If someone binds you, forces you to do something against your nature… You could very well become like the Nightmare.” Cole looks frightened, but nodded. “It won’t happen, though. Not as long as I’m around.”

 **“But you won’t be around for much longer, little elf,”** a voice hissed. Adhlea swallowed – just as something speared her leg.

“ _Shit!”_

It’s a leg. A _leg_ that speared her own, from the cold chill that started in her leg, slowly reaching to her heart.

“Here!” Sera called, touching another orb.

_I don’t want to die._

_(Kerrah ran up the seemingly never-ending steps, looking back once to see the form of Nightmare. It may have just been her, but –_

_-for a moment, as she reached one of the landings and tripped, it looked like a little girl stood there, alone and afraid and trying not to look.)_

_I don’t want to die! I have to reach the portal, that figure up there, we **both must -**_

_“Child!” The Divine reached down to her, grasping her hand._

_Kerrah trusted the Divine._

_“I am sorry,” the Divine whispered, for some reason. “But I cannot let you die here. Keep her safe.”_

_Kerrah was shoved forward, brutally. A golden spirit above caught her hand and yanked her up._

_“Divine!” Kerrah yelled into the abyss. “DIVINE!”_

_She stared down the staircase, watching the spiders swarm over the Divine._

_The blazing light next to her shoved her through the portal. Kerrah stumbled forward._

Adhlea came back to herself, falling onto one knee.

Faith had been trying to get her to understand – this warped version of the Fade, it was _just a nightmare._

“You’re scared,” Adhlea gasped out, closing her eyes and grimacing as she touched the appendage lodged in her leg.

(Little did she know, with that one statement, the Fade seemed to brighten. Sera noticed. So did Cole.)

“You’ve been forced to do this.” _Spirits,_ Solas had told her, _are warped if their purpose is warped. Sometimes, by giving them what they embody when you meet them, you can get them on your side._ “Your purpose was warped, wasn’t it?”

She grasped that appendage like it was life-saving, and she swallowed.

“If I show you my fears, will you go?”

**“Insolent _child,_ you will Fear me! I am FEAR itself –“**

“You are worse,” Adhlea said, calmly. “You can call yourself what you like. I knew you as Nightmare then, I know you as Nightmare now. But you are just a scared spirit, unable to go back to what you once were. I can help you, if you let me.” She took a deep breath, the appendage becoming slick with her blood. The elf kept her eyes closed, drawing out all of her fears and terrors. “We can help,” she said, turing her face to Sera and Vivienne and Clarel and even Cole. “Come, give her your fears.”

“Where should I put my hands? I’m _not_ touching that _thing_ in your leg.” Sera’s freaked-out voice questioned. Adhlea took a deep breath.

“Anywhere, Sera, _anywhere.”_ Adhlea felt hands cover hers.

“So, how do we do this?” Vivienne questioned, sounding like she was highly skeptical. “Just… think of our fears?”

Adhlea opened her eyes.

“I think she knows,” she said, avoiding looking at the appendage in her leg.

The appendage was shrinking. Adhlea turned as the appendage vanished, clutching her bleeding leg.

The small spirit left over was huddled on the ground, far away from them.

“That was lame,” Sera muttered. “All that over a little girl?”

Adhlea limped to said _little girl._ Really, she didn’t seem to have much solidity, but it _was_ the Fade, so Adhlea couldn’t say much. All she could say was that the spirit looked younger than Cole, and she _did_ look female.

“Hey,” Adhlea whispered, sitting down awkwardly next to her. “Are you all right?”

The small spirit looked to her, her dual-colored eyes shifting between hundreds of colors.

“I didn’t _want_ to,” she said, her voice echoing strangely. “I didn’t want to hurt you. He told me to, he _made_ me.”

“Corypheus?” Adhlea frowned.

“I don’t know his name,” the spirit shuddered. “But he’s _scary,_ and he wanted you to die when he felt you. I don’t know who he was! I don’t want to be near him anymore.” The spirit stared up at her, wide-eyed.

“Little one, what is your domain?”

The spirit tilted her head, and for a long moment, she didn’t say anything.

“Dreams,” she said. “I am Dreams.”

Adhlea frowned, looking up to Cole. Cole nodded.

“She was me,” he explained, coming next to them. “But now she isn’t.”

 _Corruption must change a spirit._ Adhlea swallowed.

“There isn’t much I can do,” she admitted to the small spirit, “but if you want, you can come with us.” Adhlea glanced at Cole. “I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

The spirit literally brightened.

“I can come with you?” She sounded _ecstatic._ “Then I want to come,” the spirit declared, a wisp of power touching her right shoulder. Heat seared itself onto it. “I have bound myself to you,” the spirit announced as Adhlea winced.

“That’s dangerous,” Adhlea cautioned her. “You should meet others and see if –“

“But I want to be bound to _you,”_ the spirit interrupted. “I like _you._ You’re nicer than the ice human and the thief.”

Adhlea looked at Cole. “You can bind yourselves?”

Cole shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I think.”

 _That’s not helpful…_ Adhlea sighed.

“Promise me that you’ll un-bind yourself when the time comes,” she said to Dreams. Dreams nodded. “And… I know this might upset you, but will you ever turn into –“ She gestured to the sky and her wound, mostly indicating the giant spider the spirit had previously manifested as.

Dreams brightened again. “I can, ‘cause nightmares are within our domain,” she said, completely chirpy. “That’s why I bound myself to you, see. If you need my nightmare self, I can have control over it!”

“This is unprecedented,” Clarel finally interjected (Adhlea jumped a bit – the elf had honestly forgotten about her). “One spirit, the world can ignore, but _two –“_

“Oh, _do_ shut up,” Vivienne snapped. “We’re a bunch of mortals in the Fade, talking to a spirit who has just tried to kill us. You have not been very helpful through this venture, Warden-Commander Clarel; in fact, I believe the Inquisitor only _accidentally_ pulled you into the Fade. You are lucky she was here. Now, Inquisitor, we should probably leave. I feel… Sick.”

“Right,” Adhlea said, ripping part of her tunic off and binding her leg. “Would you like to come with us, little spirit?”

The spirit dimmed before brightening. “Can you… can you call me _Emmaera?”_ the spirit seemed to latch onto Adhlea as she stood. “I love the thought of having a name.”

 _Dream of mine,_ Adhlea translated. “I suppose I can call you that,” Adhlea said, smiling at the wispy form of the little girl. “Now, we should be on our way to Faith.”

“I don’t like her,” Emmaera announced.

“I don’t particularly like her, either,” Adhlea muttered.

Emmaera giggled.


	135. Chapter 135

Cole watches.

That’s what he does, he knows. The awareness he has inside the Fade is extraordinary, but it certainly wasn’t something he _wanted_ right then.

No. The Fade whispers to him

_come back to me_

_-back-_

\- and tells him to become Compassion once more.

But… He isn’t sure that’s what he _is_ anymore.

He still wants to help people, but it’s limited to those at Skyhold. Those are _his_ charges. _His_ people.

He doesn’t _understand._

Not until her.

Dreams. Dreams is a spirit, who was like him and corrupted.

(by who?)

(…and where is the person strong enough to corrupt the Fade?)

(why?)

Dreams was another facet of Compassion; changed after their fears gave her a new focus. And within moments of her becoming something _else,_ she’d latched onto Adhlea. Dreams didn’t have much power, but Dreams was still strong enough to bind herself to the Inquisitor, who was puzzled and slightly afraid of what a binding like that would entail.

(come back)

Cole watches as Dreams and the fire elf walk ahead, occasionally stopping because _ooh, look, here’s some Fade-touched elfroot_ and _Fade-touched iron_ and _Fade-touched serpentstone_ and _SPIDERS._

Their thoughts sang out to Cole. But they weren’t hurt, just annoyed (Sera), angry (Clarel), nauseous (Vivienne) and tired-with-a-jolt-of-pain-every-step-she-took (Adhlea). Dreams was… _floaty._

“You’re Compassion, right?” Dreams appeared in front of him. “I’m Dreams.”

“You and I used to be the same,” Cole said, consideringly.

“Yep!” Dreams brightened. “What name were you given?”

“I use Cole,” Cole replied. “It’s easier for mortals to understand.”

(come…)

“Do you like it out there?”

Cole tilted his head. “Like?” he asked, confused.

“I mean,” Dreams said, moving back, “do you enjoy it? This is so lonely sometimes that some of us have turned into demons just to leave.”

Cole considered.

“I did not like dying,” he confided. “We died. I tried to get him food, but I couldn’t eat it. I just wanted to be _normal.”_

Dreams dimmed. “Oh,” she said, sadness drifting through the Fade.

“But I got Rhys and Evangeline,” Cole said. “And Adhlea, the Inquisitor. She knows I’m a spirit, but she doesn’t care. No matter how often her peoples’ teachings cross her mind, she ignores them. Solas likes to talk to her about the old days, when we roamed.” Cole blinked. “I don’t remember those days.”

“The passage of time is something we cannot explain,” Dreams hummed. “Not in mortal terms.”

“No,” agreed Cole. “I just want to help her, and Vivienne and Sera and Dorian and the Iron Bull; it’s weird, though, about those last two because I don’t know why they would want to hurt each other and the Inquisitor’s younger brother.”

Utter embarrassment scorched Cole’s mind. Cole blinked, looking at the group of mortals.

“With everything that’s going on,” the Inquisitor said, the tips of her ears practically glowing in embarrassment, “ _please talk about something else.”_

Cole blinked at her before turning to Dreams.

“They don’t like to talk about things,” he said. “Mortals are odd.”

Dreams nodded, fervently.

“There’s Faith,” Vivienne called out, sounding terribly relieved. “Let’s hurry!”

Cole shook his head.

“I don’t understand mortals,” he admitted.

Dreams giggled before tugging Cole forward.

(he didn’t hear the Fade call for him again.)

(maybe this was what he was meant to be?)

~:~

“Today’s the last day,” Cullen announced, “before we declare the Inquisitor actually dead.”

The group around the table looked tired and devastated.

Except Hawke. She looked a bit… _sick._

“Doshiel, I’m going to fucking _kill_ you,” she announced, clutching her stomach as she doubled over –

Green light sparked in the courtyard, once, twice –

At the third time, a rip echoed and burned their eyes.

“ _BLESS THE MAKER!”_ A familiar voice – _Sera_ – screamed.

“Oh, would you _please_ be silent?” the First Enchanter demanded with irritation thick in her voice. “Come, Warden-Commander.”

Armor clanked.

“We’re all alive,” Cole announced, his voice carrying even amid the roar of the Rift.

“We are!” a childish voice laughed.

“Who was the glowing person?” a male voice demanded.

“I don’t know, nor do I care.” The Inquisitor’s voice was a balm to their ears as the hissing grew ever louder. “Will you _move forward?”_

Cullen blinked as the Rift vanished with a loud _POP._

He had to blink, again.

“Am I seeing things,” he asked, “or is there two more people than what I originally thought there would be?”

“Anders,” Hawke gasped, right before throwing up. Violently.

“ _Anders?!”_ Doshiel ran up to him, throwing her arms around the human with glowing eyes.

“Yes, it’s me.” Anders awkwardly patted Doshiel’s back. “Lovely to see you, too.”

“How –“ Hawke wiped her mouth. “You were dead,” she croaked.

“No,” Anders denied. “Well, not _really._ Vengeance kept me alive.”

“And how –“ Doshiel started, only for the Anders to sigh.

“I don’t _know,”_ the man snapped. “I’m _alive,_ that’s all. Maker only knows how I am.”

“He’s probably just a remnant of who Anders was,” Hawke muttered. “Spirits are mean like that.”

Cullen nodded. He glanced over to Cole, who just stared at him. Behind him, a little elvhen girl –

“Maker above,” Cullen gasped, staring at the child’s features. “Is that child yours, Inquisitor?”

The little girl certainly _looked_ quite a bit like Thalia. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was a hint of some other familiar person in her face. Someone he couldn’t recall at this moment.

“No, she’s Emmaera,” the Inquisitor said, sitting down heavily. “She’s a spirit of dreams. She felt unsafe in the Fade. Can’t imagine why she’d feel _safe_ there, but… Well.” She shrugged.

“Hi!” the little girl bounced up to Cullen. “I’m Emmaera! Adhlea gave me a name!”

The templar could only drag a hand down his face in exasperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ask me about Anders... I really, REALLY have no idea. This is like... literally the ONLY chapter he's in, and I only brought him in 'cause I like happy endings.
> 
> I don't KNOW, okay! I'm WEIRD!
> 
> (please don't forget to R&R)   
> :D


	136. Enemy Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wolf disguised as a sheep appears. 
> 
> (It isn't who you think.)

Samson found himself watching the leaders of the Inquisition, subtly joining the back of the mass amount of templars. A child sat in front of the redheaded Inquisitor, the pointed ears marking her as an elf. Samson listened as the wind finally changed, after hours of riding; their conversation was focused on where they were going.

“- Empress thought that I should do it. Not an unreasonable request,” the Inquisitor said, speaking to Cullen. Cullen, whom Samson had met only once before – in Kirkwall’s Gallows. “I figure with two spirits on my side, I should be fine to do this alone.”

“And if you get caught, I can always help,” the little elf chirped.

“Emmaera, you’re new to the mortal world,” cautioned the Inquisitor. “I don’t want you straining yourself.”

“Oh, my Maker,” a templar suddenly whispered on one side of Samson. “That girl looks like her and her _lover.”_

“The apostate?” another asked, hushed. “I don’t see it.”

“You’ve never seen the apostate smile,” sighed a female templar. “He’s enough to make _me_ swoon.”

“Certainly enough to make the _Inquisitor_ smile,” sighed another. “Did you see her when the Duke entered the room? She jumped!”

“Violently. The Duke has inappropriate timing,” grumbled a male templar. “Did you hear she didn’t even _want_ to marry him?”

“I did,” one of the female templars said, lowering her voice. “I heard she was fourteen when she became his wife.”

“Nineteen,” Samson corrected. “He chose her when she was fourteen, but she was nineteen.” One of his subordinates had been at the wedding and had escorted her places as a guard at the palace. He vaguely remembered hearing about it – and the controversy about how young she was.

“Ugh,” muttered the female templar who’d just spoken. “That’s repulsive. She could barely be considered a woman. Elves get their monthlies when they’re, what, thirteen?”

“Twelve to fourteen, I’ve heard, but that’s inappropriate,” scowled the other female templar.

“Sorry! I just think, you know, it’s different when a human is chosen because there’s an _expectation_ there,” groused the first female templar.

“Oh, _that_ isn’t racist at all,” snarked the second one.

“Oh, that isn’t what I meant,” lamented the first.

Samson ignored them again as the duo descended into bickering.

The Inquisitor turned, tugging something out of her pack.

Samson frowned as she turned back around.

_I know her…_

~”~

After several days of hard riding and watching the woman he was supposed to deliver to Corypheus laugh and play with a spirit child, he was… Distracted.

He had a policy of killing those in the way, but he didn’t orphan children and had an aversion to forceful sex. He would not let his men kill women with children or fuck them without express permission from said women.

He _knew_ this elvhen woman. He did not know _how_ he did. Perhaps one of the many women he’d spared?

Still, the plan was diverted until after they left Halamshiral. The Inquisitor gave Cullen the elvhen spirit as they came into view of the city. He watched as the Inquisitor dug out an elegant cloak, fastening it around her shoulders and smoothing it out.

“Are you certain that we’ll be welcomed?” he heard Cullen ask from his position right behind the famed, and infamously alcoholic, Hero of Ferelden.

“I am the Duchess de Chalons, responding to a letter that my husband sent,” the Inquisitor said, seriously. “My husband is the Emperor. He does not _have_ to see me.”

“What if they find out you’re not telling the truth? Ask for proof?” Cullen questioned.

“I’m a _fire_ mage, Cullen. That much is obvious. I’m also in a very _public_ relationship with my apostate mage, and I’ve heard that Gaspard is doing _something_ with Duchess Monette,” the Inquisitor replied, her voice sharp. “And since I’ve walked through the Fade twice, I can now boast about that. Also, I have the Hero of Ferelden with me _and_ Hawke. They’d be idiots not to let me in.”

The gates opened just then. Samson arched a brow as they all entered the city. People turned as the group moved forward; Samson noted Cullen setting a knit cap on the small elf’s head, covering her ears. Smart.

“This is so fucked up,” Hawke muttered.

“You should’ve seen it before that bitch burned it down,” the Warden muttered, a wistful tone in her voice. “Still shitty, but it was mostly elvhen. The bitch burned it down and made mages turn it into a so-called haven; she built this place from the ashes of the dead.”

Samson had a feeling that the Warden was usually this caustic and defeated.

“Yes, well. The Empress rules over a country, and not very well,” the Inquisitor muttered in a low voice.

“No arguing here. Might I take my leave, Inquisitor? I wish to see if my Bastien is here.”

“Please, do,” the Inquisitor said, tossing a look at Vivienne with a soft smile. “Give Nicoline and Bastien my prayers.”

“Will do,” the First Enchanter nodded before spurring her horse into another direction.

“What’s the plan?” Cullen muttered to the Inquisitor.

“Templars can disrupt demonic moves,” the Inquisitor murmured. “We know the original Celene is at Skyhold. Morrigan wouldn’t follow anyone false, and she certainly wouldn’t let the Eluvian out of her sight, ergo… If Gaspard is here, we rely on him for movements and pray it is enough.”

“There _is_ something here, Adhlea,” the elf child said, her voice suddenly sounding much older. “A demon. It’s too far gone to be brought back like I was.” She tilted her head. “But if you seek to tame it, tame it as it is.”

“I… I honestly do not know what that means,” the Inquisitor muttered.

Samson had an _inkling,_ because of Lord Seeker Lucius.

He licked his lips, ready to speak –

“Inquisitor!”

Clanking armor jerked their attention to a filth-covered duo in front of them. A Seeker and an elf stood in front of them; the elf had similar hair to the Inquisitor.

“Cassandra, Varaina,” the Inquisitor nodded. “Come with me. We’ll talk inside my husband’s home.”

The group made their way forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I used Samson... I needed to make the plot move on, and I'm ninety percent sure second hand information that WASN'T written down was pretty much like a weird game of Telephone during medieval times, soooo... plot hole or no. I needed Samson here.
> 
> R&R please~

**Author's Note:**

> Lingrean Rosal'sule'din: Phoenix Enduring, translated from Elvhen thanks to FenXShiral's Elvhen Lexicon.
> 
> *Rubs face in exasperation* THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE A SERIES. But, unfortunately, there's going to be a second story added to this. Mostly because I CAN'T LEAVE A HUGE IDEA ALONE. It will, in the next idea, involve other fandoms. 
> 
> Also, the second story should be shorter. If only because this fic is nearing five hundred pages and I believe this is actually the longest fan-fiction I've ever written. 
> 
> The last one was nearly 400 pages... this surpassed it ages ago.


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